


Phylogeny

by Lysandrame



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Boy-Who-Lived Neville Longbottom, Female Harry Potter, Magic Theory, Manipulative Harry Potter, Multi, Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Slytherin Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-01-06 11:02:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18387128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lysandrame/pseuds/Lysandrame
Summary: Cross-posted on Ff.net; rating may change. Begins in Third Year.Amidst a devastating war and under the threat of a looming prophecy, James and Lily Potter became the happy parents of little Harry Potter, a beautiful baby girl. Fate is tangled in a new web of prejudices and for better or worse, Henrietta Potter is still in the middle of it.





	1. The Boy-Who-Lived

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first fan fiction, I hope you'll enjoy it :) I'd appreciate any constructive criticism!   
> ps: English is not my mother tongue, and although it shouldn't be a problem, don't hesitate to point out any inconsistencies in my grammar/vocabulary. This story is not beta-ed.

 

Green eyes narrowed in annoyance. Could they not sense that their presence was unwanted? She was hardly trying to hide her sentiment. And after two years spent taunting her, their sudden interest in her person was suspicious at best. She tried to focus on the potion text sitting on her lap, but the constant parasite noise of their hushed discussion coming from the other side of the compartment was proving quite distracting. Henrietta scowled. This was her compartment. It had been so for the last two years, and the Golden Trio had at least respected that in the past. Sure, the Weasley boy thought it was his personal duty to inform her of the disappointment her parents would have felt had they been alive to see her. Apparently, death was a much more preferable fate in his mind than having to live through the pain of having a Slytherin daughter. The point being, he usually waited until they got to Hogwarts before starting to ruin her day by imposing his distasteful presence and bigotry. But it seemed that it was his best friend —the Boy-Who-Lived himself— that was forcing the cohabitation, if she was to go by the not-so-subtle glances he threw in her direction from time to time. She grew more annoyed still until she snapped.

"Do I have something on my face Longbottom, or have I suddenly become your muse?”

Longbottom seemed to physically recoil, surprised in having been caught in his examination.

“As if he would like a slimy snake like you!” Was the predictable answer of the Weasley lackey. 

“There is no need to feel jealous Weasley, I’m not interested in your boyfriend. In truth, I’d much rather if you all left.”

Ronald Weasley blushed to the tip of his ears, the angry red blotch clashing horribly with his orange hair. Thankfully, Harry was spared a response by the bossy know-it-all of Gryffindor. 

“How was your summer Henrietta? Have you heard the news?”

Ah. So that was the reason for their invasion of privacy. They wanted to talk about her escapee, traitor of a godfather. Like hell.

“I don’t remember giving you the permission to address me so familiarly Granger, so please refrain from doing so. And if this is about Sirius Black, I have nothing to tell you. Now, would you please leave my compartment?”

Annoyingly enough, Hermione Granger looked more outraged than chastised. How surprising.

“There is no need to be so crabby about it Potter” snapped Neville Longbottom, apparently fed up with her attitude. “They say he’s after me, that he escaped to kill me to avenge his master. We figured with him betraying your family to Voldemort, it was better to warn you that he might be coming for you as well.”

Harry resisted to the temptation of rolling her eyes.

“Yes, two birds in one stone and all that. Coming to that conclusion took me about two minutes, thank you. Now that you’ve done your Golden Boy duty, feel free to leave.”

He clenched his teeth in anger, obviously unused to such treatment. People were usually delighted to be in his company. Well, expect for the Slytherin he supposed, and the raven-haired girl was certainly no exception to that rule, unfortunately. Neville let his eyes dance across her Elvin features before tearing his gaze away.

“You know, it would be better to stick together. Show a united front. And you could use a few friends too.”  
As Ronald turned green at the mere idea of befriending a snake, Harry was boiling inside. This group was one of the reasons why she had trouble reaching to her peers and he dared act as the sacrificing hero in front of her? The gall of that boy. She forced herself to calm down. Loosing her temper would not do her any good, that much she knew. Her first two years in the Slytherin dormitories had taught her that.

“I have enough trouble as it is, Longbottom. Cohorting with the Boy-Who-Lived would hardly bring me any favours.”  
At this, Neville threw her a sharp look and Henrietta realised she might have miscalculated. The point was for him to leave her alone, not show more interest! Could it be that he was… concerned? She sneered. Hopefully not, as she had no desire to be on the receiving end of his saving people thing, thank-you-very-much.

“In any case, I don’t need or want your help. Now, for the last time, find yourselves your own compartment.”  
She added a cold look for effect, to which Longbottom frowned. He seemed a bit frustrated by the situation.

“Alright. Yeah, whatever, let’s go guys.”

Harry took a deep breath, glad to see the back of them at last. Giving the Slytherins another reason to despise her was not in her plan. She had finally reached a status quo in her Common Room last year and she was not about to mess it up this early in the year (certainly not for the insufferable trio anyway). Having her fellow snakes off her back made her life much easier, and even safer to an extent. They were hardly cold-blooded murderers of course —they were just kids really— but not having to watch her back for stinging or tripping hexes down the stairs was a relief. After having spent her first year as a pariah for her ignorance on Wizarding culture (and much of that time in the infirmary), she had vowed to become the best witch of her generation and prove these snobbish Purebloods wrong. After a while, they had grudgingly accepted her presence among them as it became undeniable that she was unmatched in terms of practical arts, and that even her understanding of the theory of magic was well beyond that of the majority of their peers. And if there was one thing that was respected in Slytherin, it was power (she remembered, like an echo “It would guide you on the way to Greatness”). She had devoted a lot of her time to overcome that blasted (“abnormal, undeserved” whispered a snide voice) ignorance; she could now confidently say that she was as knowledgeable as any half-blood ought to be.

She didn’t mind being alone. In a sense, she wasn’t really, surrounded by all her books as she was, and to be perfectly honest, she despised people. Muggles, she loathed particularly; the result of having to bear with the despicable treatment of her relatives, surely. In a corner of her mind, she knew that not all muggles were as bad as hers, but the others she had encountered in primary school had hardly raised her opinion of them. Neither the children, cruel in their mockery and seclusion of her, nor the adults, unhelpful and all-too-ready to turn a blind eye on her condition. No, she didn’t like muggles anymore than these Pureblooded twats did, but that was not to say she had much more sympathy for the rest of the human specie. They were greedy, cruel and selfish. She was no exception of course, but she felt absolutely justified in her dislike of them. Her dreams of a new, utopian world had been crushed after her first week inside the walls of Hogwarts. And yet, she wouldn’t change it for anything in the world. Magic was a blessing, the true beauty of this earth, and she intended to know everything there was to know about it, and if she ever reached that point, create some more. She looked out the window plane at the darkening sky. They would arrive at the castle soon. 

 

Home, at last.


	2. The Kissers

Dementors. They had posted bloody dementors to guard a school full of children. Were the Ministry completely out of their mind? She sat at the Slytherin table, fuming after the headmaster’s speech. Food had already appeared on the table and students around had started tucking in, but she found her stomach so knotted that she doubted she would be able to swallow anything. Surely they realised this could only spell disaster? After all, these beasts fed on souls. She was pulled out of her dark musings by the mocking voice of Draco Malfoy.

“Psss! Longbottom! How does it feel knowing that those creatures are here for you? If we’re lucky they might even take you for him!”

She scowled and turned away from Malfoy, dismissing his words. Him. The reason she was an orphan. The reason she was forced to live with awful muggles. The reason for her bitterness, really. This year was going to be a long one, what with the constant reminder of her own misery hovering over the school grounds. Hopefully, the authorities would catch him soon and the beasts would be on their way. A shiver travelled down her spine. The short moment when she could feel their influence was on the way from the Hogsmeade station to the castle. If the thestrals pulling the carriages were not enough to make her uncomfortable, the oppressive feeling of despair and the phantom memories of her childhood tormentors were plenty sufficient to make her feel lightheaded. She did not even want to imagine what it would feel like to stand next to one if she had such a strong reaction to them when they were dozens of feet away from her. 

“You should eat something Potter. You’re stick and bones as usual.”

She watched from the corner of her eye the handsome boy addressing her. He had grown over the last two months, and his caramel skin was a bit darker than his natural tone, certainly the result of another summer spent in his ancestral home in the Bel Paese. He looked immaculate as customary, but appeared more nonchalant than ever. 

“It warms my heart to know that you care, Zabini.”

The sarcasm may have made him roll his eyes, but a smirk graced the corner of his lips nonetheless. 

“Don’t be silly. You represent the House after all, we wouldn’t want you to reflect poorly on us.” It was her turn to roll her eyes.

“I assure you that you’re the only one to pay attention to my appearance. And even then, it has more to do with your own obsession with looks than with me. As for the rest of the Houses, I’d be surprised if they knew my name.”

“Now, don’t sell yourself short, fake modesty is quite distasteful. But don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll receive plenty of attention this year, if maybe not for the best reason.”

“If you’re about to grill me on the subject of Sirius Black, I’d much rather you didn’t Zabini. This evening is already unpleasant enough as it is.”

“I believe I told you to call me Blaise last year.” The light smirk was back. “And truly, what could you tell me about the man that I don’t already know? He was in prison for all of your cognisant life. No, I don’t care to ask about him. I’d much rather ask what you plan to do about it.” Harry threw him a pointed look. He simply chuckled in answer. “Fine then, keep your secrets. But if I were you I’d look up some defensive magic, just in case.”

“That was the plan. I doubt I could do much against a convicted Death Eater, but I’m hardly going to twiddle my thumbs until he comes knocking.”Zabini watched her carefully. After a pregnant pause, he asked: “You don’t intend to go after him, do you?”

She scoffed. Who did he take her for? A Gryffindor?

“Of course not. I don’t plan on dying. But I think we can both agree from past experiences that we can’t really trust the government —or the school for that matter— to handle these situations in a timely manner. Or an effective one either.”

“I suppose not. It’s a relief to hear honestly. Your possible murder would be a shame, but probably rightly deserved if you were to head on like a reckless Gryffindor.”

They shared a look of dark amusement and a half-smile. She didn’t let the mention of her hypothetical death get to her. She knew it was his odd way of lightening the mood. 

She turned back to the table and fixed herself a plate. Zabini was right, she did lost a bit of weight, as she did every summer, when she was stuck with the despicable muggles. It was nothing to drastic, but with her last growth spurt it was more noticeable than last year. Of course ‘growth spurt’ was a relative term as she was not particularly tall, but she prided herself on not being particularly short any longer. She had hated being the smallest girl when she had arrived in first year. Adding physical inferiority to her list of problems was not something she wanted.   
The rest of the meal passed quickly, sharing a pleasant conversation with Blaise on his summer in Italy and debating on the classes they would have. They would share Care of Magical Creatures and Ancient Runes, but Henrietta had picked a third elective, Arithmancy. She had been curious about Divination as well —the idea of knowing the future being enticing to her as much as the next person— but she figured three electives were plenty already. She was glad she opted against it after Blaise told her that the teacher to the course, Trelawney, was a well known good-for-nothing drunk.

“Between her, Binns and whoever they choose for Defence, it seems like a lot of incompetents on the teaching board of the so called best school of Europe.” she told Blaise as the deserts disappeared. 

But before he could reply Malfoy, Slytherin bully-in-chief, having caught the end of their discussion, interjected:

“I’ve been saying it for years, haven’t I Potter? Dumbledore is a senile, of course he doesn’t know how to run this school. My father wanted to send me to Dumstrang, that’s how much the standards have fallen since Dumbledore is headmaster.”

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes for hearing this story once more, Harry simply asked him even though —or rather, precisely because— she already knew the answer:

“Who was headmaster when your father was attending, then?”

If the pink that dusted his cheeks was to be believed, Draco had recognise her taunt for what it was. 

“Well, Dumbledore. But of course my family has always been able to provide for the best education possible, regardless of the headmaster in place.”

“Of course. I’m sure it will be the same for you Malfoy, not to worry.”

Turning back to Blaise in clear dismissal, she missed his angry frown. While she wasn’t on the best of terms with the blond, they weren’t completely antagonistic either. Rather, he left her alone as long as she was not vocals in her brush-offs. The same couldn’t be said about his sycophant, wannabe-girlfriend Pansy Parkinson. She took personal offence of Harry’s non-adoration of the Malfoy heir and the summer had not ridden her of her obsessive crush if the glare she was currently boring at the side of her head was any indication. 

“As if a half-blood knows anything about worthy magical education.” Said Pansy, throwing a sneer her way.

She lifted her nose in the air and turned toward Malfoy, mimicking a dog expecting a pat on the head after doing a trick, so well that it was humorous. The fact that she looked crestfallen when Draco only answered with a non-committal ‘hm’ did not help. Certainly a kicked-puppy, but a rather disharmonious-looking one. And she wondered why the girls called her Pug-face behind her back.   
She shared a quick glance with Tracey Davis, the only other half-blood of their year. She knew better than to expect any support from the girl though. Not only because this was an inconsequential comment that hardly deserved her assistance, but also because as the childhood friend of Daphne Greengrass, she was spared most of the difficulties being a half-blood in Slytherin brought. Harry understood perfectly why she didn’t one to remind them that there was another half-blood Third Year in their Common Room, but that didn’t stop her from somewhat resenting the other girl for it. After all, she herself acted a lot less like a half-blood than Davis did, but alas, it was the way of things. 

The dishes disappeared and it was time for the horrendous school song. As the cacophony rose everywhere around them, Harry thanked every deities she knew that it only happened once a year. Once too many really. She couldn’t stop herself from looking over the Gryffindor table where the Twin Menaces were dictating their abominable off-tune tempo. She secretly thought that Fred and George Weasley were pretty grand. They had a sort of truce since she had caught them pouring magical paint in curse words shape and hadn’t snitched on them; in turn, they rarely, if ever, included her in their Slytherin pranks. Not that the rest of the Houses were spared from their wicked ways (even their own House had to suffer their shenanigans), but it was true that a fair percentage of their pranks was dedicated to the Snakes. It didn’t help their reputation in her House, adding to that the general stupidity of their little brother and uptightness of their older one; it made the Weasley Family the all-time least favourite family of the Slytherin House (though a part of her thought that the feud between Lord Malfoy and Mr. Weasley must have some influence as well). 

Finally, the torture was over and they were free to head to their Common Room. Blaise had went back to mingle with the boys, leaving her to fall in step with the Greengrass heir and Tracey Davis. They shared meaningless but polite small talk on their way up the stairs of their dormitory. She could not pretend to be be close to them, as they tended to be lost in their own bubble of long-time friendship, and Daphne held a type of icy politeness to everyone but Tracy that made breaching the status of acquaintance difficult. At least, they were cordial toward each other, contrary to Pansy Parkinson and her bulky side-kick Millicent Bulstrode who was as mean as she was ugly. She got into bed and closed her curtains, spelling them keep out noise and to stay shut, before any insults could fly her way. Harry let out a long breath. Peace and quiet. Or at least, relative peace the should hold if she was careful enough to mind her business and check her acidic tongue. For now, it was good enough.

 

The morning after, having spent significantly less time than her roommates on her appearance (as usual), she headed to the Great Hall for breakfast. She couldn’t really contain her giddiness at the prospect of her new classes. Having read her school books over the summer —it wasn’t like she had much else to do— her head was filled with theories on the possible application of magic. With time and dedication, Arithmancy could may enable her to create her own spells! Of course, it implied a good grasp of latin, but she would start working on that as soon as possible. Runes seemed fascinating as well; to think that a millennia before, when magic was everywhere and the distinction between muggles and wizards did not exist, the Norsemen were already using them, these Elder Futhark Runes, to protect or curse. 

Countless nights during the summer she had dreamt of being a Ward Master, exploring uncharted lands with knowledge as her only weapon. And she did not mean a measly Curse Breaker either —not that she criticised the fine job— but a real Ward Master, able to displace mountains and oceans on a whim, power humming behind her fingertips. Of course, these were just phantasies of an over-ambitious little girl —for the time of Ward Masters was long gone— but she dreamt and prayed and hoped that one day she might resemble them. It was useless musings for now, but she kept her goal well in mind and it gave her a reason to overcome the difficulties of her otherwise relatively unpleasant life.   
Theodore Nott was already sitting at the table when she arrived, the only other Third Year present. He gave her a curt nod and went back to his plate without another acknowledgement. Nott was a reserved boy. His mousy features were reflected in his quiet personality and darting eyes. From what she could glean, his home life situation was hardly any better than her own. Except the muggle part of course. they had a sort of mutual understanding that allowed them to work well together, without stepping on each other’s toes. He had been his potion partner since First Year and they were both quite content with the arrangement.   
The Hall had started to fill and she spied the usual procession from the corner of her eye. Malfoy was talking animatedly to Pansy, whose adoration eyes seemed to be gleaming with happiness while Millicent was trotting next to her, nodding her great head every other seconds. Walking diligently behind them were Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, looking like the big lumps of idiocy they were. Harry thought that their presence in the Slytherin House was a graver insult to old Salazar than her own filthy blood ever would be. Right after them arrived the last two girls of her dorm, huddled close together and in the middle of some gossip if their giggles were any indication. There was no Zabini in sight. She viciously crushed the disappointment she felt at not seeing her somewhat friend. She did not need anyone. 

Soon enough Severus Snape, their Head of House, began distributing their timetables. He paused briefly next to her and, having apparently come to a decision, told her in the slightest movement of lips “My office, tonight. Eight o’clock.” She barely had the time to murmur “Yes, sir” before he turned his heels and continued down the table. She vaguely heard him give Zabini’s schedule to Malfoy for safekeeping while she stared blankly at her own. No doubt he too wanted to talk about her murdering godfather. Her relationship with her Head of House was similar to that of the rest of the House, begrudging acceptance and wary respect. Yet, she could not help but think that maybe it was different as well, deeper and more complex somehow. She remembered her First Year and how he spent the first semester hating her openly (it had not helped the integration with her jeering housemates and cautious year-mates). She could make an educated guess and assume that he and her father had been quite antagonistic, what with the amount of slurs he made against the dead man. But that had been before her hard work stubborn non-reaction to his piques had convinced him that she was made of another cloth than her father. She had had to work harder on Potions than any other subject combined in order to overcome his resentment. If Sirius Black of all things managed to unravel all her hard work, she would drag him in front of the Dementors to receive the Kiss herself.

She refocused on her timetable, but judging from the discomfited groans coming from the Third Year section of both the Gryffindor and Slytherin table, she had a fair idea of her first period. And without a doubt, there it was: double potions with the Gryffindors. It seemed as if the teaching board took a sick pleasure in creating disasters. Then again, she knew for a fact that Snape, all sadist that he was, found no joy in teaching the lions —or possibly teaching at all— no matter the circumstances. Maybe he preferred to begin his week with the worst possible scenario with the hypothesis that it could only get better after that. She browsed the rest of her schedule. It was packed. Maybe taking Care of Magical Creatures in addition to her two other elective was a bit ambitious… However, she was a Slytherin by nature and would not accept mediocrity for laziness. She had no particular interest in animals, but knowing their proprieties would be useful, be it for potions or to protect herself against them. But as a result, she only had two free periods as opposed to the five she would have had, had she not insisted on being an overachiever. Oh well. 

She briefly wondered how many electives had taken the know-it-all Granger. She would be the type to want to take all five of them and work herself to exhaustion. Harry dismissed the idea right away. Granger was a muggleborn and, despite her fault, a clever girl. Taking Muggle Studies would make no sense whatsoever. Of course she did not really Caren but the one-sided competition that the muggleborn insisted on carrying out forced some attention. Harry was determined to prove once again that a deeper understanding of magic would beat a by-heart apprentissage every time. She did not know if Granger had a photographic memory (which seemed to her as a ridiculously unfair advantage) but her unconditional trust in written texts would be her downfall. A critical mind surpassed a knowledgeable one. This year would be no different. She made her way toward her usual workbench with Nott and started to unpack her potion kit. Snape liked to start the year with a ridiculously difficult-to-brew potion, certainly to instil back the fear of the laboratory in the heart of students after two months of leisure. As if it would take two measly months to forget Snape’s sadism. The soft voice of Theodore interrupted her thoughts.

“How did you find the summer assignment?”

Harry raised a dark eyebrow. It was quite unlike him to make small talk.

“It was alright I suppose. I compared the Antidote to Common Poisons to the one for Uncommon ones and hypothesised on the properties of lavender and how adding its essence could help better the taste and help in the case of doxy bites.” She paused before asking hesitantly “What about yourself?”

He gave her a microcosmic smile. “Not as well as you I’m sure, we can’t all have your understanding of potion-making. But all in all it could have been worse. I thought the Transfiguration essay was an absolute headache though.”

Harry was cut in her answer by the brisk arrival of their Potion Master. His snapped “Cease your incessant squabbling!” Was quite unnecessary in her opinion as every whispered conversations had stopped upon the banging of the lab door. After taking roll and sending a few piques to the Gryffindor side of the classroom (as usual, a clear border sat between the two Houses, seemingly unbreachable), Snape waved his wand over the blackboard where a piece of white chalk started writing the instructions for their next potion. In a distinct voice, but quietly enough that they would have to strain their ears to catch everything, Snape intoned:

“On the board are the instructions for the Antidote to Uncommon poisons. Anyone who fails to hand me an adequate vial at the end of the class will be given a Troll and an additional essay for next class, stating the details of their incompetence. You have the rest of the class to complete it.” As the class stayed put for an instant longer, he barked “Well? Get to it!”

Harry let the others stumble hurriedly to the ingredients closet, lightening the fire under her cauldron and putting it on low. It was a relatively tricky potion to brew, mainly because of the timing of the adding of the Billywig stings. One had to be careful of the temperature of the cauldron before adding the fire seeds too, as putting it on open flame meant risking a small explosion. All in all, if one was very careful of the steps, it would not be terribly difficult. Of course, knowing the proprieties of each ingredients was a big help in the adjustment of the instructions. Theodore went to get the required ingredients and they fell back in their routine like a well-oiled machine. Theodore, knowing better than to question on her tweaking of the potion, did not mind too much being relegated to the menial tasks. After all, it assured him top grades in the past, so he was not about to complain. An hour and a half later, they were done. Their concoction had the exact shade described in the textbook, but the essence of lavender she had added during the last step gave it a pearly sheen and softened the normally-acrid smell.   
Harry was careful to fill a few additional vials of the antidotes. It could always come in handy and she didn’t see the point in wasting a perfectly good potion, as long as she remembered putting it under a stasis spell. Snape gave her a sharp look when she handed him her vial but did not comment on it. Turning around, she saw Blaise leaning languidly on his workbench while Malfoy was finishing up their potion. Draco might be a brat sometimes, but he was quite gifted at potion and, like her, preferred to tackle most of the work by himself if it meant not having a bothersome partner to mind in order to make sure they wouldn’t ruin his potion.   
Blaise caught her gaze minutely, his own eyes dancing with amusement as Draco swatted him away from their cauldron. To be fair, Potion was not Blaise’s subject of expertise. He was much better at History, a subject in which she herself was adequate at best. His devil-may-care attitude was expected at this stage. He had a type of nonchalance she tended to associate with continental aristocracy rather than the more stiff-back arrogance characteristic of the British Isles. He seemed to know exactly what was going through her mind if his growing smirk was any indication. She averted her eyes and made her way out of the classroom once she handed in her summer assignment. She could not say which type of arrogance she despised more, but if she was honest to herself she would admit that his certainly disquieted her. She headed to the greenhouse, Nott walking silently beside her.

 

She truly despised Herbology. First, because it was an unwelcome reminder of her chores at the Dursley household, hands raw from weeding out the garden in the blistering heat of the summer months; and second, because she could not find enjoyment in having her hands plunged in the dirt for a whole hour. The so-called calming effect of the practice was completely lost on her. She enjoyed dealing with dead plants, cutting and chopping and mincing them to extract their magical proprieties. Tending to them was hardly of any interest to her. That’s why she did not even roll her eyes when she heard Malfoy’s complain at having to do servants’ work. Of course, he was clever enough to wait until he was out of earshot from professor Sprout. All soft-hearted Hufflepuff that she was, Pomona Sprout could turn into a fire-breathing dragon when her darling plants where concerned. Or maybe more accurately, in a fully mature Mandrake, death-inducing shrieks and all. Harry would even agree with Malfoy if it was not for the fact that he kept using the same argument since First Year. She dismissed entirely Parkinson’s snide comment about how “of course some people were better suited for the job than others.” That as well was a recurring argument since First Year. Harry had no doubt that they would still say their piece in Fifth Year, after which they’d be allowed to drop the blasted subject.

“Yes, we all know how Longbottom takes to it like a fish to water. It’s no wonder really, with the company he keeps. I suppose he’ll be great at Care of Creatures as well, between the Weasel and the Beaver that he tends to on daily basis.” Retorted Draco.

Pansy was not talking about Longbottom at all, but about Harry herself obviously. Well, it was obvious to her at least, she knew how much disdain the girl had for her —not that Pansy had ever tried to hide it of course; if anything, it was becoming increasingly apparent. But since her idol was agreeing with her, even if it was not the intended victim, Parkinson gave a high-pitch laugh that she probably thought was enticing. Harry wondered briefly if she had practiced it in front of the mirror.   
Nonetheless, even the annoying girl could not stop the soft chuckle that escaped her lips. It was no secret that the Potter heiress held no love for the Golden Trio, least of all the two sidekicks. Draco preened a bit. It was rare for her to agree or approve outwardly of what he said. Harry knew however not to take it personally; he simply enjoyed having a court of people to agree with him. The Slytherin all headed to lunch together. 

“Oh, I’m ravenous!” Exclaimed Zabini. Harry raised an eyebrow. 

“Could it be due to the fact that you missed breakfast on the first day of class?” His grin full of teeth suggested that she made a mistake by voicing her opinion.

“I don’t really see how it being the first day has any link with my appetite, but I’m flattered to see that you pay so much attention to my coming and goings, Potter.” He went as far as to wiggle his eyebrows suggestively.

Harry scoffed and turned her face in disgust to hide her flaming cheeks. She knew better than to encourage him by playing his game. Zabini was a notorious flirt with everything that wore a skirt. Yet, Draco seemed curious enough to ask anyway.

“But where were you Blaise?” You weren’t in the dorms when we left so I assumed you were already at breakfast. You should know not to annoy Snape so early on.” 

“Well, if you must know, I was in the charming company of a Fourth Year Ravenclaw.”

Harry did not think he could look more smug if he wanted until he had the gall to wink at her. She simply rolled her eyes. How typical. Tracey, the gossip queen of Slytherin, was not about to let slide that juicy piece, however. 

“Really? On the first day? Who’s the mystery girl?” The gleam in her eye couldn’t be a good sign for the girl in question. She seemed a tad too vicious for it to be simple curiosity.

“I shall keep her name to myself, I wouldn’t want you to tarnish her reputation and scare away all the prospective girls.”

“Oh, come on Blaise, don’t be like that! At least tell us if it’s your girlfriend!”

Tracey’s voice had taken a slightly whiny undertone, but Harry dismissed the conversation. They wouldn’t get anything else out of him. They kept debating on the possible identity of the Ravenclaw conquest while Harry’s gaze skimmed the High Table before setting on their new Defence Against the Dark Art teacher. The Headmaster had introduced him as a certain Remus Lupin. In all honesty, she thought he didn’t look like much. Between his shabby robes and gaunt, scar-crossed face, adding to that his sickly pallor, he seemed better suited for a bed in Saint Mango rather than a desk at Hogwarts. Hopefully, he would be more competent than his two predecessors despite his pitiful appearance. She supposed she could know soon enough as Defence would be her last class of the day. But right now, it was time to head to her double period in History of Magic. Oh joy.


	3. The Archives

_Chapter Three_

 

As it turned out, professor Lupin did in fact surpass his predecessors. By far. Apart from his extensive knowledge and his hands-on approach of the subject ( _“Take out your wands everyone, we will do a review of the jinxes and counter-jinxes that you know. I expect you to demonstrate your practical knowledge of the spells as well as the theory.”_ ) which immediately put him in the good graces of the students, Lupin was also a fair teacher, giving out point when it was due regardless of the House. He may seem a tad more favourable to the Gryffindors with his kind and easy smiles, but he was never unfair. He did have a peculiar reaction to her name while taking roll —a sort of strained, pained smile— but he was hardly the only one it occurred with. Snape had had a far stronger reaction the first time he called out her name, and McGonnagal’s eyes had been gulfs of sadness on an otherwise stern face. She supposed they must have known her parents before they died.

 

It was odd to think that people who were initially complete strangers to her held more feelings toward the demise of her parents than she did. Oh, of course she was sad that they were dead, but it was more due to the situation it put her in rather than cherished sentiments toward them. After all, she didn’t know them. She didn’t know if they had been good people. She supposed they must have loved her, since they died protecting her. But she kept wondering, could they not have done something more if they were as great as people said? ( _“You have a knack for Transfiguration Miss Potter. Your father was a genius at it, it must be in the blood” — “The same deft hand at Charms as your mother! She would be proud” — “It is a miracle that you seem to be taking after your mother rather than your imbecilic father. He was completely inept at the delicate art of potion-making”_ ).

If they had loved her so much, could they not have fled the country, raised her safely away from the conflict? Her father had killed Rabastan Lestrange, a formidable wizard, before being taken down byhis equally formidable brother Rodolphus. His wife, Bellatrix Lestrange (née Black! Could this blasted family not leave her alone?), and Bartemius Crouch Jr. had tortured her mother before her eyes and killed her. The Death Eaters had not had the time to turn their wands against her before the Aurors had arrived by a dozen and rounded up the terrorists, then shipping them to Azkaban and her, to her own personal prison, her closest relatives: the Dursleys. 

 

Of course none of this would have been possible without Sirius Black, her father’s best mate and her godfather, selling them to the Dark Lord’s highest Lieutenant which just so happened to be his cousin. He had then tried to clean up behind him by killing another of his best friends who must have known of his duplicity but was caught in the act. Thus robbing her of one more possible magical living situation. In a sense, she resented Sirius Black a lot more than his cousin and her husband. They might have been the one to really do the deed, but it was not _personal_. They were on the opposite side of a bloody war (and her parents were on the losing side too if it hadn’t been for Neville Longbottom, the walking miracle). Her parents had _chosen_ to fight, had chosen that their beliefs were more important than their safety, more important than _her_. Now Sirius Black was another story altogether. He had claimed from the very beginning, from the moment he was sorted in Gryffindor that he was against the Dark ideology. He had spitted on the timeless traditions of the Wizarding world, acted like a true muggle-lover —even though Harry was certain that he, like every Pureblood heir, knew nothing whatsoever of muggles to begin with— all that to betray her family at the last minute, when they needed him most, because it became obvious that the Light Faction was loosing the war. As far as Harry was concerned, he was nothing more than a _coward_ , but the true reason behind her situation nonetheless. The Lestranges at least had killed her parents because they had believed in something, believed that in doing so, they were helping build a better world. No matter how deluded they had been, they hadn’t been _cowards_.

 

All these informations, she had found them in the public archives of the National Wizarding Library of Magical Britain, commonly called the NWL, at the junction of Diagon Alley and Vertic Alley. As in every National Library, they kept archives of newspapers and every other types of publications that had been published on their soil. They also kept reports of trials held by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. You couldn’t access all of them and needed a special clearance to read the most heinous ones, such as the Lestranges and Crouch one. _Thankfully,_ she thought bitterly, as the last of the Ancient House of Potter and the victim of their crimes, she had been allowed clearance to read the report over the summer by Madam Bones when she had learnt of Black’s existence. She had been in for quite a shock. (And to think that this Barty Crouch fellow had been cold enough to sentence his own nineteen-year-old son to lifetime in Azkaban). Something that still bothered her to this day was the fact that she found no trace of a trial being held against Sirius Black. Normally, she would have found a blank folder with his name, and from there she would have had to send a request for clearance like she had done for the Lestranges’ trial.

 

Having enough on her plate as it was, she dropped the subject for a while. After all, she didn’t really see what good could come out of stirring that rotten pot. It would certainly not bring back her parents in any case. But maybe it was time to send an owl to Madam Bones. For closure, let’s say. And the Head of Department had been quite helpful the first time around, so maybe she could enlighten her once more. From what she looked up on the woman, she had started working for the DMLE straight after Hogwarts, only a year after the judicial debacle that was the Fall of the Dark Lord. From there, she had made a steady ascension until last year when she had been promoted to the rank of Head of Department at the young age of 27. All accounts seemed to favour her as a fair if strict woman, whose sheer force of will and stubbornness brought her to this position of influence in a mostly male-oriented environment.

You would guess right to think that she was a bit of a model for Harry who had no intention of letting her gender dictate what she could or couldn’t do. Had she had a single silver of interest in this type of bureaucracy, she would have considered applying for a summer internship just to get to know the woman better. To think that Susan Bones of all person was her niece and had the possibility of grilling her on any matter of subjects made her green with envy.

At diner, she looked for her in the sea of black and yellow ties. There she was, talking excitedly with her pudgy friend —something Abbott if she recalled correctly. Her bubbly personality was a sharp contrast to the strictness pictured by her aunt. Harry glared at her. No doubt the silly girl made no use of the mine of information she had at her disposal

 

“You’re doing it again Henrietta.” The amusement was clear in Daphne’s voice.

Harry blinked in confusion. “Whatever are you talking about?”

“You tell me. Who is it that you’re trying to set ablaze with your eyes this time? You’ll scare the ‘Puffs away.”

Malfoy snickered. “Good. Maybe if you keep on they’ll grow a spine one day.”

The Third Years laughed around her. The Hufflepuff jokes never seemed to grow old at the Slytherin table.

“Well” started Davis, “I know at least one ‘Puff that I’d rather you didn’t scare away.”

 

Greengrass acquiesced lightly in a sort of dreamy way that was quite unlike the usually composed heiress. Ah. That type of reaction was only provoked by a handful of people at school, and only one of them belonged to the Badgers. She observed his profile. It was true that with his full head of lustrous brownish-copper hair and devastating smile, Cedric Diggory, Sixth Year Hufflepuff Seeker, was a right catch, something that all of the female student body seemed to agree on. Granger herself, the most no-nonsense and anti-gossip girl of their year was unable to stop herself from stuttering ridiculously in his presence. Naturally, the boys of her year all hated him. While Harry didn’t have any problem admitting to the dreaminess of the heartthrob , she also found the idea of pining for him completely useless. With a three years difference, there was simply no way he would take notice of any of them. Maybe Granger —if only because she was best friend with the Boy-Who-Lived— but even then, considering that she was quite lacking in the look department with her overlarge front teeth and frizzy hair… No, there was really no point. Especially not when she had an appointment with Snape in one hour and essays to get started on.

 

At least, the topic of Diggory had provided her with an excuse not to talk about her childish jealousy for Susan Bones. These kids, all —or almost— heir to old and noble Houses wouldn’t have understood. She stood up.

“Well, as interesting as this is, I have an appointment with Snape. I will be seeing you later I suppose.”

 

While most boys seemed pleased by her disregard for the current subject of their discussion, Harry didn’t miss the clever glint in of amusement in the eyes of Theodore Nott. It seemed her escape from the previous topic had not been quite as discreet as she had thought. At least he didn’t seem keen on pushing the matter and even let her make her retreat without a single word.

 

At eight sharp (for she knew how he detested tardiness) Harry knocked on Snape’s door office. After a curt ‘Enter’ she was standing in front of his desk as he wrote on a parchment. A full minute went by before he put his quill down and began:

 

“You may sit. Do you know why I have called you here tonight?”

“I figured it was to discuss the matter of Sirius Black and his possible desire to murder me.” Snape raised an eyebrow at her apparent apathy.

“Indeed. I hope it is unnecessary to inform you of the utter foolishness that going after him would be.”

“Yes sir.” Harry sincerely hoped that it was the last time she would have to say this. 

“Good. You are not notorious for your recklessness but I though preferable to begin with this as to get it out of the way. I want you to know that I knew Black before he betrayed your parents, and even if some third party would like to make you believe otherwise, listen carefully: Black has always been a cruel and dangerous individual. He had all of the instability that his family was famous for. Now, after twelve years in Azkaban surrounded by Dementors, I can only imagine what his mind is like. He would not hesitate to kill you. So hearken me when I say this Potter, if you ever encounter him, I want you to get rid of all silly notions of honour and _flee_. Have I made myself clear?”

 

Harry bit her tongue to refrain from talking back. She knew all that, she really did, but it didn’t stop the retort from clawing at the back of her throat. She was _not_ a coward. Her silence was apparently telling enough because Snape narrowed his eyes in a very intimidating glare.

 

“Your parents have not sacrificed their lives for you to throw away yours so carelessly! Despite your father’s blood running through your veins I believe you are a somewhat intelligent girl. If the situation arise, you will act as the Slytherin you are and favour self-preservation above all else. Now, _have I made myself clear?_

Harry nodded with clenched teeth. While the tone grated her to unbelievable extent, she agreed with the message behind it. “I understand, sir.”

“Good. If you feel in need of… assistance this year, you know where to find me.” 

 

Harry nodded one last time before taking the dismissal for what it was and heading back to her dorm.

 

 

The Common Room was full of people wanting to catch up with each other and discuss their first day. Tracey called her over as she was making her way toward the staircase to retrieve her homework. She and the Greengrass heiress were sitting on the couches by the fire. Harry hesitated. She didn’t want to seem rude, but the prospect of having to bear with Pansy and Millicent was far from a charming. She sighted. Might as well get it over with.

 

“Yes Tracey?”

“Sooo, what did Snape want with you? He can’t already be displeased with you!”

“Nothing much, he simply wanted to address a personal matter.”

Pansy huffed. “Personal matter alright, he must have wanted to debate over that despicable man. To think that your heritage could even include unhinged criminals! That’s a new low even for you, isn’t it?”

“Ah yes, my godfather. Did you know he’s a cousin of Lady Malfoy? From your sound analysis, Draco dearest and I share the same despicable heritage.”

 

Parkinson seemed almost chagrined to have indirectly insulted her crush. She did not back down though.

 

“It is regrettable that he is related to such an individual, but at least he didn’t choose it! Unlike the sad excuse of a wizard that was your father.”

Daphne gasped, putting a dainty hand over her mouth. “Pansy that’s awful! Speaking so ill of a dead Lord… and in front of Henrietta too! You should be ashamed.”

 

Parkinson sputtered. She was not used to being reprimanded for talking poorly of blood traitors.

 

“She’s the one who should be ashamed! Having such despicable relations!”

“And her parents paid the heavy price for their choice. Surely that is compensation enough, wouldn’t you say?”

 

She answered with a huff, looking around to see if she could find support. Her gaze fell on Malfoy as the boys entered the Common Room. 

“Drake! Over here! We were just talking about Potter’s godfather and how her dirty blood might soon be spilled.”

 

Malfoy frowned and look positively uncomfortable with the current topic. Zabini simply rolled his eyes before walking away, completely uninterested in the conversation. From the look of it, the blond heir was quite envious of his course action.

 

“Well, yes it’s a shame the government isn’t even able to catch a half-starved criminal, but I can’t say I’m surprised. Efficiency isn’t really their key word.”

Harry cut off Parkinson before she had the time to open her mouth.“Indeed, Malfoy. Pansy also voiced her opinion of the Black Family in general. A new low, I think she called it?”

He visibly bristled at the pique against his mother’s House.

“House of Black is one of the oldest and purest Families in Britain. It certainly is a shame what happened to them, but we should remember their former glory. And really, everyone who is anyone is related to them. Even House Longbottom, as sad as it is.”

“Of course you’re right Draco. Then again, Potter isn’t really related to the Blacks, not by blood.”

 

Of course her arse. Parkinson was simply jealous because she herself was not related to the formerly unmatched House despite being part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. But she was surprised to see Malfoy smile.

“Actually she is. Her great-aunt was Dorea Black, she married Charlus Potter, the brother of Fleamont Potter, Henrietta’s grandfather. “

 

Harry did not know what floored her more. The fact that he knew her genealogy so well, or the fact that he used her name so casually. Then again, she reminded herself that heirs to Noble Houses were supposed to know such thing. Daphne was nodding her head, showing that she too was aware of this information. But that meant…

 

“We’re related??” Harry couldn’t stop her horrified expression. She was relieved to see a similar face on Malfoy.

“Hardly. Dorea was my great-great-aunt, hardly enough to call us related. The Malfoy and Potter Houses have never married.”

Pansy was fuming now. That was not the turn of event she had anticipated when she called the blond over.“Yes well, Sirius Black is hardly one connection to be proud of.”

Harry had had enough. She snapped “I’ve never bragged about him or anyone in my family “ she ignored her “as you should!” And continued “but if we are to go by the criteria of him being a former Death Eater and a general criminal, then I think we all have someone to be ashamed of, don’t you think Parkinson?”

 

She blushed horribly, but wasn’t the only one to feel uncomfortable. It was a well known fact that the majority of the Death Eaters came from Slytherin —a fact the rest of the Hogwarts Houses were all too willing to remind them of. Despite her obvious anger, Parkinson wisely kept quiet. Harry knew it was a risky move on her part, a comment probable to anger most of the Common Room, but she was not going to let this sorry excuse of a witch talk to her this way.

 

“Now that this is settled, does anyone know where to start with this horrendous essay on Puffapods?”

Daphne, whose Family was notoriously Neutral despite it being part one of the Sacred Twenty Eight, was the first one to recover from the previous barb. “Don’t get me started on Herbology homework Henrietta, it’s the first day of class. Could you at least wait a week before reminding us of our despair?”

Harry smiled lightly at the chuckled rose around her. “I think I will head to the library then.”

Theodore stood up as well. “I’ll come with you. I have an owl to send.”

 

Nott was acting out of character today. Finding no reason to say no, she acquiesced and went to grab her things in her room before heading out. If one more person wanted to talk to her about Sirius Black today, she would scream.

 

“I hope you’re not about to grill me on my criminal relatives, Nott. I’ve had a long day.”

He raised an eyebrow. “It wasn’t my intention. I know better than most that we can’t control our filial relations.”

Harry blushed. “Excuse me, I didn’t want to be insensitive.”

He shrugged and pushed his hands in his pockets. “I know. You usually don’t, unless it’s well deserved. Pansy was callous tonight. She shouldn’t have said that about your father.” Seeing her suspicious glance, he gave a scoff and added “Daphne told me. She was quite incensed on your behalf.”

 

Harry secretly doubted that Daphne was outraged for her rather than outraged at the idea of a future Lady committing such a serious social faux-pas. Then again Pansy, for all her money and status, was far from being a model of poise and elegance. She voiced that last thought, watching curiously as Nott cleared his throat uncomfortably.

 

“She’s usually much less difficult to handle. I think she’s just been a bit jealous lately, it should blow over soon enough.”

“Jealous?” Asked Harry incredulously “what does she have to be jealous about?”

If possible, he grew more uncomfortable, even his laugh sounded a little forced. “Please, there is no need for fake humbleness. You’re a pretty wicked witch.”

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “So she’s been a nightmare because she’s jealous of my grade?”

“Don’t act so surprised, it’s plausible.” 

“Right, you have to admit that we don’t see her hounding on Granger, and she’s the top student in our year.” Mostly because of her own dislike for Herbology and History, something she was a bit sore about.

“Ah, well, it might have something to do with Lady Malfoy’s comment as well…”

 

…What?

 

“Lady Malfoy knows who I am?” That, at last, drew a genuine laugh.

“Any socialite worth its salt knows of the last remaining heiress of House Potter who was sorted in Slytherin, Henrietta. It was a bit of a shock you see.”

“Don’t try to distract me Theodore. What comment are you talking about?”

“Just that you seemed like a fine young witch and… well, that you were as pretty as you were clever.”

 

He mumbled through the last part, obviously discontent over having to say such a thing out loud. Thirteen years old were silly like that over things they considered embarrassing. But… Harry smiled to herself. It was truly a lovely compliment. While she was used to be complimented on her work since she enrolled at Hogwarts, they were of a different kind, and from teachers as well. To have such a high standing Lady hold her in high regards was very flattering.

 

“Oh. That’s nice. But it hardly explains Parkinson’s attitude, she was much less difficult last year.”

Theodore looked at her like she was being thick on purpose. “Lady Malfoy holds all type of gathering during the summer. She must have told a few Ladies, and Mrs. Parkinson told Pansy.”

 

As if that explained everything.

“So what? Just because she said I was clever doesn’t mean she’s about to draw a betrothal contract.”

 

Theodore scowled at the reminder of arranged marriages. No doubt his father will rope him into one at some point.

“In any case, she was complaining about it on the train yesterday, so it must have bothered her.” Then, to change subject, he said “You know you’ll be expected to show up at the Ministry functions soon.”

Harry looked up, alarmed “I thought I had until my majority?”

“Well, for the legislative procedures at the Wizengamot yes, but as heiress to an Ancient Family, you’re expected to represent your House at social functions from your fourteen birthday onward. Did no one tell you that?”

Henrietta scowled “Muggle-raised, remember? My Gringotts manager only told me what was mandatory.” Merlin, how she hated those situations.

“You should talk to Daphne about it, she’s very savvy about theses things. Anyway, this is where we part. I’ll see you later.”

 

He headed off toward the Owlery and she continued to the Library with her head reeling. It seemed she would have a busy summer and would need to brush up on her etiquette. Purebloods tended to take ignorance of high society customs quite personally, as she had been unfortunate enough to find out in First Year. She would take his advice and askDaphne for her help. The girl would probably love the opportunity to turn her into the perfect pureblood heiress.

She started writing her Herbology research, preferring to tackle one problem at a time and go with the hassle of her least favourite subject. Soon enough, curfew drew close and she had to pack up her parchment under madam Pince’s careful watch. Nott’s expedition to the Owlery also reminded her of her own intention to send a letter to Madam Bones, so she got to her dorm and settled at her desk to write it before she opted to procrastinate any longer.

 

“Dear Madam,

During my summer research on the trials of my family’s persecutors, it came to my attention that I could not find any trace of Sirius Black’s trial.

I thought that maybe it was a more heavily restricted file on a need-to-know basis only.

With all due respect, I believe I am to be part of this basis, considering my situation.

 

Looking forward to hear from you soon,

Henrietta Potter,

Heiress Potter.”

 

She re-read over the letter. Short and to the point. Maybe she could have been a bit more courteous, but from what she picked up from her previous exchanges with the woman, she believed Madam Bones was the kind of person to appreciate straightforwardness. She closed the letter and apposed her Family Seal over it. Changing in her pyjamas, she went to the bathroom to wash her face and clean her teeth, bid goodnight to the girls present and slide into bed. Her first day back in the castle was always draining. Having to socialise again after two months of near-total isolation was ever a challenge for her, and the constant talk of Sirius Black and pointed fingers her way made it all the more stressful. It would take a few days to adjust.

 

 

 


	4. Friendly Knavery

_Chapter Four_

 

       The next day, she decided to wait for the girls in the Common Room before heading to the Great Hall. She would never admit til the day she’d die that the awful comment on her social state that Longbottom made in the train had any impact on her whatsoever, but she’d be damned if she didn’t try to prove him wrong, if only to annoy him. After waiting twenties minutes —she remembered why she always went on without them now— the boys had all came down, relatively surprised to see her there. Malfoy, as usual, was the first one to speak up.

“Potter! Decided to wait for us, have you?”

Harry rolled her eyes. “Obviously a mistake, the girls are taking forever. Though I’m surprised, I would have thought you and Zabini would take just as long.”

He flushed a very light pink as Blaise shrugged and said “We can’t all rock the careless rolling-out-of-bed look quite as charmingly as you do Potter, you’ll have to excuse us.”

Malfoy, having composed himself, interjected before she could think of a comeback. “I believe it just means we’re growing on you.” He smirked rather triumphantly. “We’ll wait with you for the girls, they shan’t be much longer.”

“Oh, I’m sure that if you speak just a bit louder then at least two of them will come tumbling down to get to you. But thank you anyway.”

  

Blaise laughed heartedly and even Theodore smiled. The two brainless dunces usually flanking Malfoy’s side just stood there, but that was hardly a surprise. It was a wonder they even managed to get this far in their education really. Harry had to admit that they could put above average power behind their spells, and that was probably their saving grace. Draco rolled his eyes, smiling a little nonetheless. He was in an awfully good mood this morning. He —like everyone else really— was perfectly aware of Parkinson’s infatuation with him, but he mostly ignored it. To be fair, Pansy was hardly his only admirer and while he was overly pleased by this, he was not half as smug as Zabini was over it, and if he did have any conquests, he was not one to boast about them. Which was truthfully surprising, considering that he boasted about basically everything else, but Harry appreciated his discretion on the topic all the more.

  

They talked for a few more minutes before they heard the girls coming down the stairs. Pansy’s delighted exclamation upon seeing the boys (Draco really) was very grating on her ears. After all the guys, having been raised as good little gentlemen purebloods, generally waited for the girls to appear to walk them to the Great Hall, so there was no reason to be so surprised. Daphne gave her a small smile, having noticed her unusual presence among them. Harry was suddenly ridiculously embarrassed, feeling more exposed under her knowing gaze than she had in a long time. But she was not about to back down now; she would need to be friendly enough to ask for her help with the etiquette and politico-social responsibilities that would be expected of her upon her fourteenth birthday. Theodore was obviously aware of her intention, but seemed pleased by it, enough to not mention it.

They all headed to breakfast, talking between themselves. The fluid, easy way they addressed each other reminded her of the fact that they mostly grew up together. Tracey Davies, the exception to this little group of heirs, was neighbours with the Greengrass family and therefore did spend much of her childhood around the other heirs. The Notts and the Malfoys were old allies, both being Ancient and Noble Dark families, as was the case of the Parkinsons, the Goyles and the Crabbs.

While House Zabini was renown to be politically Neutral (like the Greengrasses, they did not participate in the last war), everyone knew that they were rather dark-oriented. From what she heard, Lady Zabini was not the most respected lady (that title was reserved for Lady Malfoy) but she was fiercely independent and quite influent politically speaking, being the Matriarch of an old Pureblood Family who controlled a colossal fortune. Of course, there were some nasty rumours about the suspicious death of six of her seven husbands (Blaise’s father had died of natural cause) but Harry paid them little mind. To her, Lady Zabini represented the kind of powerful woman every girl with a bit of ambition and desire for independence should strive to resemble.

Girls like her actually.

The fact that these kids knew what was expected of them as heirs, knew perfectly how to interact with each other because they were taught to, reminded her bitterly of the fact that it should have been her case as well. She should have had a Lord father to teach her of her duty and rank, she should have grown up with this kids. Of course, from the outlook of to, she probably wouldn’t have —her father was a _blood traitor_ — even if they had lived. It was useless to ponder on what could have been. She would learn what was expected of her and surpass it in every way. She would turn the Potter name into something powerful and respected, and that began with learning what these kids knew since they were in nappies.

 

* * *

 

 

          Double Transfiguration —with the Gryffindor, no less— was challenging as usual. They were turning bigger animals now, moving past last year’s insects (beetle into button) to rodent. The bigger the size the more difficult was the rearrangement of their molecules, but at the end of the class, Harry was one of the few to have managed to turn her rat into a chalice. It was not quite as intricate as she wanted it, even though she was able to carve a rearing stag to mimic her family crest, she could not work out how to add the precious stones that she envisioned at the base of the chalice. At least she had managed to turn it a uniform golden colour. Professor McGonnagal gave her a tiny smile —which in her own jargon was equivalent to the highest praise— and awarded her ten points for her efforts. Granger received ten points as well for being the first one to transfigure her rat, but hers was a rather plain copper cup. The smug look she had given her had turn sour after seeing her own adorned transfiguration. Harry scoffed as she got out of the classroom with the other Slytherins. That silly girl would never achieve greatness if she didn’t learn to think outside of the box, and from the amount of self-importance she exulted, she was not about to change her ways.

  

Theodore, who struggled with Transfiguration, was grumbling next to her. She hesitated before saying “You know, I could give you a hand if you’d like.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And you would do that out of the goodness of your heart?”

She smirked “Well, I’m sure you’ll find a way to repay me if I ever need your assistance.”

He chuckled approvingly. In Slytherin, pity was not tolerated, whether as a deliverer or a receiver “It’s a deal then. You help me with Transfiguration and in return I’ll owe you a favour, as long as what you ask is within the limits of the reasonable.”

“Deal.”

 

Harry didn’t realise as of yet the consequences of her actions.

 

Next period was Muggle Studies, so naturally, every Slytherin had a free period. She decided to use that time to go to the Owlery and send her letter to madam Bones. The sooner it would be sorted out, the sooner it would put her mind at ease. Or as much at ease as it could get considering an insane murderer might be after her. She called out one of the school owl, a brownish old thing, before tying it up to its leg.

“To the Ministry, please. DMLE, Madam Bones’ office.”

The bird looked at her with intelligent eyes and hooted before taking off through the tower’s window. She still had a while before lunch so she decided to finish the essay  that she had started last night by the lake and enjoy the last bits of summer before the Scottish weather prevented them from heading outside without turning blue. She was obviously not the only one to have thought about it, and groups of students from different years were lounging on the grass. The early September weather was still fairly warm, and a few brave students were even dipping their feet in the lake, exhilarated at the thought of the Giant Squid floating about, somewhere under the dark waters. She settled against a tree and took out her parchment, quill and textbook, ignoring a few upper years whispering about her. She couldn’t wait until everyone settled down and the news of her relation to with a dangerous escapee abated. It shouldn’t take too long; soon, the Golden Trio would do something ridiculously outrageous and all talk about her would be forgotten. To be fair, only people with connection (that is to say, connection to the upper echelon of pureblood society) would be aware of that particular relation. Still, after First Year and her unexpected sorting, she had hoped that the only time she would be the centre of attention in the future would be because of her own accomplishments. Putting the final touch on her essay, she casted a quick Tempus, showing her that lunch had started a good twenty minutes ago. She hurried to the Great Hall where Theodore had kept her a seat.

  

“What kept you?”

Harry just shrugged and fixed herself a plate quickly before it disappeared. She spied the treacle tart by Parkinson. Her passion for the desert was a bit embarrassing, but she wouldn’t ask the prissy girl. She would be capable of pouring salt on it just to ruin it for her.

“Have you taken Arithmancy?”

“Yes. That and Divination.” At her astonished look, he added “Don’t look so surprised Potter, the subjects complement each other quite well. My family is well versed in this type of magic, so I am expected to know my way around them better than most.”

“I suppose that makes sense. Are you going to step up in the family business once you graduate?”

He frowned, obviously discontent with the current topic even thought he was the one to have oriented it that way. “I don’t think I’ll have much of a choice, but I’d like to travel bit before being roped into it.”

Harry nodded enthusiastically. “Absolutely, there is so much magic to discover outside of the restrictions of the British Isles.”

Theodore smiled, visibly happy to find a kindred spirit. He was interrupted by a low, drawling voice coming from their left.

“The restrictions of the British Isles, huh Potter?”

 

The boy who had interrupted their conversation was a Fifth Year whom Henrietta had always been very careful around because of the dangerous, angry energy that he permanently exulted. Evan Rosier Jr. was a tall, fair-haired, blue-eyed teen, whose attractive face seemed to have been carved into cold marble. He had —until today— only shown her scornful contempt, a fact that she understood just fine knowing that it was her father’s squad, lead by Auror Alastor Moody, that had killed his own father. It was reportedly him that had cost Moody half of his nose. His mother having died in childbed, he was an orphan like her. Well, not exactly like her since he had been raised by his grandfather, an elderly man whose cruelty had only increased in his old age (loosing his son must have helped in that department as well).

 

Steeling her courage but choosing very carefully her words, she said softly:

“I believe some continental countries could have a more unbiased view on magic, allowing a different approach to learning. They may be less prone to shun a whole branch of magic due to baseless prejudices.”

  

Both his eyebrows disappeared behind his fringe. That was certainly unexpected. Nott didn’t seem surprised at all though, so maybe he had been too quick a judge when he had seen her shuffle around the Slytherin table, ignoring her peers.

  

“That’s a very interesting point of view that you have Potter, one I’m sure you’ll find many of us share at this table.”

  

Harry got his message loud and clear. It was his way of saying “welcome to the dark side, kiddo”. She fully blamed her much despised muggle upbringing for finding itremotely funny. Throwing a discreet look around, she realised that the quick exchange had not been as inconspicuous as she had thought. Marcus Flint and Adrien Pucey, both members of the Quidditch team, were nodding encouragingly at her (or as encouragingly as Flint’s troll-like face could get) and Daphne, Draco and Blaise all looked ridiculously self-satisfied. She wondered if they ever had to defend her from being a ‘blood-traitor’ and why they would even bother to. Were they being friendly or were they already trying to form alliances? Sure, they were young now, but she also knew that over half of the people in Slytherin House would be faces she would see within the walls of the Wizengamot one day. She shook her head. She was reading too much into this, her one vote as Lady Potter could hardly be that important.

 

How wrong she was.

 

* * *

 

Arithmancy had been a bit more challenging than she expected, but seemed truly fascinating. The class had mostly consisted of presenting the subject and its uses, and she was very glad to have taken it when Professor Vector said it was one of the mandatory OWLs to become a curse-breaker. Numerology, which they wouldn’t explore too deeply until after fifth year, seemed particularly captivating. That horrid Granger girl was practically buzzing on her seat at the prospect of applying calculus to magical formulas. Harry had no doubt that the muggleborn would excel at it. Theodore already knew the basics of the class and would probably be similarly gifted. The rest of the class was mainly made up of Ravenclaws and only one Hufflepuff was attending. Granger was also the only representative of her House, but that was hardly surprising. She had a feeling it would be her most intensive class, and the workload would be trying but ultimately worth it.Case in hand, Professor Vector had already given them homework due for next class, which would take place on Friday morning.

Theodore and her made their way to the Charm classroom on the third floor where they met up with the other Slytherin.

 

They shared this double period with the Ravenclaw, which assured a pretty peaceful class as their two Houses worked quite well together. Professor Flitwick was his usual cheery self and it was sometimes easy to forget that he had been a ruthless duelling champion in his days. He collected the summer assignments and started them on a revision of the Disarming spell, a spell she had been very intent on not only knowing, but fully mastering last year during the debacle with the “Heir of Slytherin”. Sensing their boredom, Flitwick casted a spell on one of his yawning Ravenclaws, a boy called Michael Corner for whom Harry held little sympathy. The boy started giggling with the silliest grin that she had ever witness, even on his goofy face.

 

“And this class, is the effect of a strong Cheering Charm on a student who could have avoided this fate had he been paying more attention to his professor.” He smiled among the students’ laugh. “Now, the charm was invented during the 1400’s by Felix Summerbee. As I’m sure you’ve been able to surmise, the effect is to make the subject happy. I must warn you on overdoing the spell without the proper control as it can cause the subject to be overcome with great fits of hysterical laughter that can be quite problematic. Why, I remember a duel in which I used a particularly overpowered version of the spell, rendering my opponent completely incapable of coherent thought, thus having to forfeit. Remember everyone, creativity is your greatest asset during duels! Not that I am encouraging you to starts fights outside of the classroom of course. Now, unto the incantation…”

 

Charms was assuredly one of her favourite classes, and if Flitwick’s ramblings could get frustrating at times, they were generally filled with interesting tidbits of informations. He was truly a formidable wizard, and Harry sometimes wondered if his frivolous attitude was a way of making people underestimate him. Then again, not everyone was over-paranoid Slytherins. One thing that was for sure was that Tuesdays would be very intense what with Transfiguration, Arithmancy and Charms, all double periods; she felt quite tired for a day with supposedly only three classes. She was very relieved that Astronomy classes would take place on Wednesdays as she didn’t think she could have been efficient until midnight had it been tonight.

Having a good hour before diner, she decided to head to the library to work on her Arithmancy homework with Theodore. She had a feeling her offer to tutor him in Transfiguration would turn very beneficial for her in regards to Arithmancy.

 

Later that evening when they entered the Great Hall together for diner, Daphne raised one of her dainty eyebrows. Her best friend was not as discreet in her curiosity however. Tracey leaned in and interrogated them eagerly.

 

“Well? Where did you two disappear to?

Harry rolled her eyes, annoyed. “To the library Davis. Do you even know the way to get there?”

“Hey! I resent that. We can’t all be bookworms like you. I swear you’re as bad as Granger sometimes, killing all the fun.”

 

Harry tsked and narrowed her eyes. That was assuredly the wrong thing to say. Surprisingly, it was Draco who castigated her.

 

“Don’t be ridiculous Davis, just because someone is smarter than you doesn’t mean they’re mudblood know-it-alls.”

Blaise chuckled in agreement and added “Draco’s right, Tracey dear. Jealousy is quite unbecoming.”

 

Deep down, Harry knew that is was only partly to defend her and that as Slytherin, they took some enjoyment in lashing out against Tracey’s noisy ways. That knowledge didn’t stop the warmth from blooming in her chest. But turning another girl against her was not a smart move on her part, no matter how much she felt that she deserved it for comparing her to Granger of all people. So, as Tracey’s cheeks reddened in embarrassment, she said:

“Tracey has nothing to be jealous of. She’s just too curious for her own good. So, as to answer your real question, no, Nott and I were not secretly making out but doing our Arithmancy homework.”

 

Theodore flushed noticeably at her words but nodded firmly. There was no need to give them the wrong idea or they’d never hear the end of it. Tracey was still incensed, she could see, but her fears of having alienated another of her roommates (who would have undoubtedly taken the Greengrass heiress with her in her anger) were assuaged when she gave her a grateful nod for her intervention.

 

Crisis adverted it seemed.

 

* * *

 

The next morning at breakfast, Harry waited eagerly for the post, but no owl landed in front of her. She bit into her toast dejectedly. It was natural for madam Bones to take a few days to reply, she probably had not even opened the letter as of yet, considering how much work and responsibilities she had, but Harry had hoped nonetheless, against her better judgement.

 

“What’s with the long face Potter? You should be excited, we have Runes first period. Didn’t you say how much you looked forward to it?”

 

It was Blaise, leaning languidly with his elbow on the table, his chin propped up on his hand.

 

“Nothing you need to bother yourself with Zabini. But yes, Runes is going to be fascinating, I have no doubt about it.”

“Blaise.” Harry frowned, confused.

“I beg your pardon?” His smile was a tad mocking.

“I told you to call me Blaise a few times now. You wouldn’t want to be rude, would you Potter?”

 

Naturally, he would use her last name precisely when she was reminded of her own social faux-pas. The git was good and he knew it.

 

“Of course Blaise, feel free to call me Henrietta.”

His smile turned smug now. He almost purred “Thank you, Henrietta.”

 

Daphne joined them as they headed to the Ancient Runes classroom and she was reminded of Theodore’s advice on the Greengrass heiress. She would have to find a moment alone with her, and Runes would probably the only time the girl would be separated from Davis, who had taken Divination and Cares as her two electives. It was actually surprising to see them apart, she was so used seeing them joined by the hip. Then again, Runes was notorious for its heavy workload which did not correlate so well with Tracey’s bubbly personality and reflecting work ethic.

 

As they entered the classroom, Harry slid in the seat next to Daphne, ignoring Blaise’s mock-hurt antics. The other girl was much too polite to comment on it, but gave her a quizzical look. Harry acted as if she had not noticed, not too eager to state her request without at least warming her up with a friendly conversation and the prospect of a talented partner for the class. Because having little to do but read during her summer and a deep fascination for all kinds of arcane older forms of magic, Harry had read, analysed and learned both her text books and the Elder Futhark runic alphabet, the most commonly used runic language in the study of Ancient Runes. If Greengrass accepted to help her, then —and only then— she intended to use her knowledge to rid herself of any sense of indebtedness. But she had to give her a taste of her capacity for the hook to sink.

 

Professor Babbling entered, looking more frazzled than she could ever imagine Septima Vector to be. She was a rather short witch, with long brown hair (which she did not seem to have brushed that day) and brown eyes. All in all, a rather plain-looking woman. She started talking about different kinds of magical iconographical writings at a fast pace, mentioning hieroglyphs, the Glagolitic script, the Ogham, before airing to the Proto-Germanic runes with the Anglo-Saxon Futhorc, the Younger Futhark and the one they would use most as beginners, the Elder Futhark. Babbling insisted a few times that it was a mostly theoretical subject (as if the three mandatory textbooks, _Ancient Runes Made Easy_ , _Rune Dictionary_ and _Spellman’s Syllabary_ did not indicate that from the start) but Harry knew from rather obscure research that it was very much possible to apply them to practical use.

She had carved Uruz, Naudhiz and Isa on the doorframe of her bedroom at the Dursley’s to ensure safety, strength and isolation. She had tried to power them by pouring some magic into them, but had ended up cutting herself on her carving knife and, in her frustration, smearing some of her blood on the Runes. The powerful flare it had given had knocked her on her back, the impact stealing her breath. Getting back on her feet, she had felt dizzy and unsteady, but the Runes had been warm and pulsing with energy. It had lasted all summer and it had been her best one as of yet; the muggles leaving her alone entirely as long as she was within the safety of her bedroom. Not a single banging on her door to order her harshly to prepare breakfast for the family of three.

 

Having read nothing describing this type of phenomenon in any of her required textbooks, Harry had decided to go hunting for information through other means, i.e. raid the runology section of Flourish and Blotts. As it turned out, there was not a single mention of using blood to power runes in the entire bookshop. Asking the clerk was of no use as he simply frowned, looked down his nose at her and stated in the snottiest voice imaginable that they “don’t sell books on this sort of magic in their respectable institution”. Which was ridiculous really, the notion that she would use this knowledge on ‘unrespectable’ actions was completely unfounded. After that, she had dropped the few books that she had though might be useful on the counter and had walked out the door, determined to find a solution elsewhere.

She scowled at the memory of that self-entitled prick. But she supposed she ought tothank him in a sense. After all, it was because of his horrendous attitude that she had ended up searching for other bookstores in the area that would have a more open-minded approach on magic in their book selection. That’s how she had found Knockturne Alley, full of dingy shops and odd people. She had been wary at first —and still was, it was not the kind of place where you should let your guard down— but quickly warmed up to the place when she realised the uncharted opportunities now open to her.

 

But enough digression, she had a task at hand. Convincing Daphne that it was in her best interest to be friendly with her. To that effect, she showcased in-depth knowledge and offered a few theories to Professor Babbling when asked, going as far as beating Granger to the punch in answering a few questions. During the last half-hour of the class, the teacher asked the to work in pairs on a translation worksheet to give them an idea of what would be expected of them on their assignments. Harry could not have asked for a better timing. She turned to Greengrass with a smile, and it must have held a hint of Cheshire resemblance for Daphne appeared slightly suspicious. She mustn’t have been quite as subtle as she wanted, but she could hardly contain herself. They set to work nonetheless and Harry let her try to figure it out on her own before softly pointing out a few inconsistencies, all the while congratulating her on her creativity on some runic circles to make her more amenable.

 

“It’s very interesting that you would put Uruz with Fehu, after all it’s true that in our society strength goes hand in hand with wealth. However in runology they’re not so easily linked. I think for Fehu, it would be more fruitful to associate it with Othala to enhance peace and prosperity of the home. We could balance it out with Gebo, the energy of balance and generosity. It’s also a powerful enhancer for marriages, so it would be ideal in the context of forming a strong economical alliance through a marital bond. Three is a potent magical number too. Maybe engraving it on a wedding band?”

 

Daphne was positively flabbergasted. To her honour, she recovered fairly quickly but before she could enquire on her insight Babbling swept down upon them, a smile stretching her cheeks to the point that it was painful to look at.

 

“What a brilliant analysis Miss Potter! To show such intuition and understanding so early in the semester! You obviously have an extraordinary grasp of the subject that you must pursue! Fehu, Gebo and Othala do indeed form a powerful combination. Now class…”

 

She went on explaining the factors of a symbiotic formation for the circles. Meanwhile, Daphne was examining her speculatively.

 

“I didn’t know you had such an aptitude for Runes, Henrietta.” She articulated calmly. Harry just smiled.

“I would be happy to give you a hand if you ever need.”

The Greengrass heir narrowed her eyes slightly. “And what would you want in exchange?”

 

Hook, line, sinker. Her smile turned sharp.

 

“I may need your expertise on the proper behaviour expected of a heiress in social functions… such as Ministry Balls for example.”

 

As usual, she was rather reluctant to admit that she needed help, but this small humiliation was much preferable to the large one she would have to deal with if she was to make a fool of herself in front of some of the most powerful and influent members of their society. Daphne looked briefly surprised (as if her previous performance had made her forget that no, Harry had _not_ been raised by her Pureblood ancestors) but her expression soon changed to resemble that of a cat having eaten the canary. She did not even try to cover up her satisfaction.

 

“You have yourself a deal, Henrietta.”

 

Her obvious jubilation made Harry somewhat nervous. Hopefully she did not plan on torturing her too much.

 


	5. The Letters

 

_Chapter Five_

 

         Harry settled into a routine fairly similar to the one she had during the two previous years, splitting her time between classes, trips to the library and her personal research. A noticeable difference was the effort she put in socialising a bit more, mainly out of necessity. Daphne had taken to her task as etiquette tutor like a fish to water —that is, if the fish in question was a piranha. She was grateful nonetheless, for she would need to put the lesson in application soon enough. Helping the Greengrass heiress in Runes was a small price to pay in exchange for the carefully guarded pureblood knowledge. She had underestimated the responsibilities that came with the titles of Houses in their world. The differences between Muggle and Wizarding society had never been more flagrant to her, and she came to the realisation that they were not two sides of the same coin, but truly two separate entities that simply happened to share the same language and land. In order to truly adapt, one had to let go of the notion of similarities completely. Daphne was adamant that the reason behind the muggleborn discrimination was simply that they refused to see this truth and kept trying to push their vision on wizards because of misplaced sense of unity between the two societies. By doing so, they disregarded their traditions and insulted their customs; something that they probably would not do if they were to travel abroad and meet indigenous people, but still did here because they thought it was one and the same country.

Harry had to admit that her argument was fairly solid, and she even agreed to some extent. But their opinion diverged however, on the nature of the discrimination. Yes, this theory explained —or rather, supported— the discrimination, but for Harry, it was only a partial explanation. She personally thought the main root of it was fear, as it is in most things. No doubt the ruling class, mainly composed of Purebloods, feared for their traditions and customs, but Harry thought they mainly feared for themselves. If these newcomers were to be perfectly assimilated in their government and political system, then surely they would try to overthrow the established power in place. From there emanated the dogma of Blood Purity; by claiming that muggleborns were _inherently_ inferior to the ruling class, the threat they represented was entirely set aside. Harry was very careful to keep her opinion to herself however. No matter how friendly she and Daphne were at the moment, or the fact that she was a heiress herself, these lessons were proof enough that they were not, in fact, the same. Right now, she was part of _them_ , but she was under no illusion that, were she to debunk their theory, she would not become part of the _others_ once again. She only allowed herself this piece:

“It’s surprising that a school intending to create unity between witches and wizards of all ancestry would offer Muggle Studies as an elective, but not Wizarding Culture for the ones who would wish to become more integrated.”

“Just another proof that Dumbledore is a muggle-lover, he wants us to learn their culture, but allows them to completely disregard ours. “

“So in a sense, it’s more his fault than theirs, isn’t it?”

Daphne had startled at that, her mind at war. Who was truly at fault? The people she had been taught to despise, or the man who neglected to teach them the necessary notions to their assimilation into the traditional fold?

“I suppose you could say that. After all, they might become better mannered if they had to learn our customs… There has never been such a class though.”

Harry knew she had to thread carefully now.

 “I wonder if we could do something about it. Your father is in the Wizengamot, so he must be influential. Could he try to have a law drawn?”

Daphne was glowing with pride. She was very much a daddy’s girl.

 “Papa is indeed very influential, but the Ministry doesn’t have direct influence on Hogwarts’ curricula. It would need to be implemented by the Board of Governors.” She had a wicked gleam in her eyes now, “Draco’s father is a member.”

Of course. The boy had bragged enough about it last year for the whole school to know. Daphne continued with her previous thought, the wicked gleam now a full on firework.

 “You might get to meet him this summer in one of the Ministry functions. You could talk to him about it, no doubt he would be curious about your ideas. I’m sure Draco would be delighted to introduce you.”

 That was certainly a daunting thought. She had only briefly seen Mr and Mrs Malfoy over the years, mostly when they were parting with their son on King Cross’ platform, but there was no denying that they formed an intimidating —if beautiful— couple. Lady Malfoy was a statuesque woman, irrefutably gorgeous and endowed with an elegance and poise that she had rarely witnessed. As for Lord Malfoy, his tall, broad frame had towered over the sea of people, and if his immaculate appearance and silky platinum hair pointed toward vanity, it did not take away any of his deeply masculine charisma.

 “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”Harry had answered, trying not to show the nervousness she felt at the idea of trying to sway such an infamous politician without getting herself tangled in a web of her own making.

 “Right. In any case, you have to work on your curtsy, it needs a lot more fluidity. Remember that you must curtsy to every Lord and Lady that is introduced to you. Oh, and you never introduce yourself without a mediation, generally your parents or, in your case, whoever escorts you. Which is why your choice of escort is very important, you can’t go with someone with too few connection with the right sort.”

 

Most of their meetings went on this way. If she was perfectly honest, Harry would say that she found them almost pleasant, if you were to exclude that horrendous time where she admitted to being only adequate at dancing, to which Daphne reacted as if she had committed the original sin. The conversation that had followed had definitely _not_ been a pleasant one.

Tracey had taken less well to Daphne and Henrietta’s budding friendship. While Harry was not ashamed per say, she preferred it if the word of her taking Pureblood lesson did not go around. Just the thought of that horrid Pansy taunting her mercilessly on her lack of proper education made her grit her teeth. So, to protect her dignity, they had agreed to say that they were off to work on their Runes assignments which Tracey had no reason to partake in, since she had picked Divination and Care as her electives. But if at first she had seemed completely indifferent, she was now starting to resent their recurring disappearances and the few inside jokes they shared. It had come to the point that she had taken to hang out with Pansy and Millicent when her usual confidant was not around. It was a surprising development, as Pansy’s snobbish attitude was generally enough to drive her off. Harry could not say that she truly appreciated Tracey, as her outgoing —to not say airhead— personality did not mesh well with her more somber one, but seeing her giggling to Pansy’s snide remarks about her was irking. She had no intention of stealing her friend, and she was fairly certain that Daphne would call off their deal as soon as it stopped benefitting her. And surely, she would consider losing her best friend over Runes tips as such. That’s why she was particularly surprised when one morning in October, Daphne slid in the bench next to her at breakfast, huffing in an irate voice.

 

 Tracey is being a nightmare. I have never witnessed such childish jealousy from her before, but I won’t take it much longer.”

Harry’s eyes widened in alarm. This could only spell trouble —mainly for her.

"What has she done?”

“She threw a tamper tantrum because she deemed that I was spending too much time with you and too little with her.”

“Oh.”

Harry had no clue what to say, Daphne was obviously irritated at the other girl, but she must have been blind not to notice Tracey’s childish tendencies before now. She refrained from voicing this thought, as she doubted the Greengrass heiress would take kindly to it in her current state.

 “And it’s not even the worst.” The girl added “She had the gall to make a scene in the middle of the corridor!”She took a deep breath, trying to regain her famed composure. After a few seconds, she turned toward Harry and said in a very serious tone: 

 “Making a scene in public is unbecoming of a Lady. If she wishes to act like a peasant, I shall treat her as such.”

The sentence had the monotonous quality of a phrase known by heart, and Harry did not doubt for a second that Lady Greengrass must have repeated it to her and her First Year sister over and over until it was seared in their brained. Harry kept her face clear of the smile that was threatening to breach her restraint. Sometimes, Daphne wanted to play at being the perfect proper Lady so much that it only served to highlight how young she still was. In this case, she cared less for the tantrum in itself than for the fact that Tracey had _broken the rules_ of her game.

 “You know better than most that Tracey cares very little for the code of conduct for proper ladies, Daphne. She reacted as she would always have: with impulsiveness.” Harry shot her a quizzical glance before adding “I thought this was what you liked about her, her easygoing, bubbly personality.”

 

Daphne frowned, the action not enough to mar her pretty face. She shook her sandy blond locks about her head.

 “When I was younger I thought that she was a breath of fresh air, completely free of pressure, not expecting anything of me other than being her friend. But we’re not eight-year-olds anymore, soon we will make our debut in Society and I can’t afford to have my reputation tarnished simply because she is petty and jealous.”

Harry could not say that she could relate, having never had such friendship (“ _or a real friend”_ whispered a voice that sounded suspiciously like Petunia). Still, because the girl was obviously distraught even if she tried to hide it, she asked:

 “Have you tried to explain it to her?” 

Daphne sighted. “She wouldn’t understand. Tracey might be with us now, but she isn’t a heiress, she wouldn’t get the pressure we have of representing the family.”

 

 _We_. It seemed she was officially part of them now. To think that it had only taken a few well-placed words and etiquette lessons… And now Tracey, who had been friend with them most of her life, was excluded from the same group simply because she didn’t inherit a title? A terrible thought entered her mind. Was Daphne replacing Tracey with a new _pet project_? One that would turn more beneficial in the future? _Her?_

 

 “Simply because she isn’t a future Lady doesn’t mean she isn’t under some type of pressure to conform one way or another, she wasn’t sorted in Slytherin for nothing after all. Being surrounded by heirs must be difficult. She’s probably just afraid to lose you.” Seeing as the conversation had taken a rather moody turn, she said “And you never know, she might end up a Lady if she marries into the fold.”

The other girl let out a laugh.

 “Well, she certainly has been making eyes at Blaise enough to point toward that option.”

Harry blinked. She had not been aware of that fact. Then again, it explained some of her reactions in the past.

 “I suppose it’s to be expected. Zabini is fairly handsome, and his devil-may-care attitude would be attractive to someone of Tracey’s personality.”

The Greengrass heiress sent her an amused look and a soft smile. “Not to yours?”

She pulled a face, not liking this line of thoughts. “I have enough to deal with as it is without adding boy-drama to the lot.”

Daphne kept her smile. “Indeed. In any case, I will try to talk some sense into Tracey, but I don’t know how long it will hold.”

 

She was grateful for the end of this discussion, not wanting to dwell on her and Tracey’s possibly interchangeable fate. She would play to the Pureblood tune as long as it profited her, but she had no intention of becoming anyone’s puppet. She had goals for herself —too lofty for some, no doubt— and she would get there, with or without their approval.

 

She was startled out of her thoughts by an owl landing in front of her. It was a rare occurrence, rare enough for the girl next to her to send her a surprised glance. Harry cautiously untied the letter from the leg of the animal. The ‘M’ of the Ministry was emblazoned on the front of the high quality paper. In the whirlwind of classes, she had almost forgotten the letter that she had sent to Madam Bones. She was bursting with nervous excitement at the thought of finally getting her hands on more information but refrained from opening it at the table. Depending on the content and her hypothetical reaction to it, she thought it preferable to do so away from prying eyes.

Pushing the envelope in her messenger bag, she quickly bade goodbye to Daphne, pretexting to have forgotten a textbook in their dorm. The other girl was obviously not fooled by her deplorable excuse, but let her off the hook nonetheless. She forced her pace to be as serene as she could manage it, but found that her rapid heartbeat was giving cadence to her feet, quickly leading her to a secluded corridor. Despite her self-scolding, she could not quite stop the trembling of her clammy fingers as they opened the letter.

Glancing over the sharp cursive, she felt overwhelmed by vertigo, the words swimming in and out of the paper. She had to take a few gulps of air before their meaning could sear into her brain.

 

No trial.

 

Madam Bones had spent weeks working through the archives of these difficult times, first thinking that it had been misplaced under the previous administration, but she could not find a single mention of Sirius Black’s trial. She had personally informed Minister Fudge, but the man had not wanted to hear anything. As head of the DMLE, she would do whatever was in her power to give him a trial once they apprehended him, and she promised that she would get to the bottom of this. But for now, without Black in their custody, there was nothing more she could do.

Harry’s mind was reeling, theories blooming and withering faster than her comprehension could follow in her current state. What did this _mean_? A simple mistake in procedure during chaotic times or a recurring occurrence? And if so, what did this mean for the Wizarding population at large? If the heir —even estranged— to one of the richest and most ancient families in England could be sent to prison without even being given the courtesy of a trial, then what stopped the government from doing the same —or worse— to a lambda citizen? What safety could people hope for if the government held that kind of power? It was most worrying. 

 

And beyond that, it allowed a petrifying emotion to creep inside her bones and size her heart, an emotion that she never wanted to feel toward Sirius Black, the man who had ruined her life. Doubt. The blasted feeling opened the door to the terrible turmoil of hate and bitterness that maybe, just maybe, would lose its set target and be unleashed, unfocused and untameable.

Without the outlet that Sirius Black represented, upon whom would the blame lay? Where would all that anger go?

Her eyes went back to the slanted words. The Ministry? She scoffed. That was hardly satisfactory. The dark bundle of emotions, the growing _entity_ in her chest would not be appeased by a faceless institution when beforehand, it had a very concrete, tangible person to blame. Fudge was a bumbling fool only motivated by greed and power, but not at fault in this particular instance. Hell, he was not even in office at the time of the events!

The former head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, perhaps. Crouch was certainly vicious enough for it, from what she had gathered. But it did not match, the man had been remorseless enough to send his own son to prison in the name of Justice for goodness’ sake! If the Lestranges had deserved a trial, then surely so did Black. No, it did not match with the man she had learnt about. There was something else at play that she did not understand and could not possibly grasp with what little information she had.

 

Harry steeled her determination. She would not let this go.For her sanity’s sake, she needed to get to the bottom of this. And the only person who could possibly have more information than her on that fateful night —and that would be willing to share it with her— was someone she had been perfectly happy to avoid until now. Neville Longbottom himself.

She casted a quick _Tempus_. Now was not the time for a meltdown, she was already late for class. But this weekend was the first quidditch match of the season —Gryffindor vs. Slytherin— and she was determined to catch him before then and squeeze what little he knew out of him.

 

* * *

 

She managed to catch him on Friday after their shared Transfiguration class. She waved Daphne off with the rest of the Slytherins on the pretence of wanting to ask McGonnagal a few questions.

 “Longbottom! Can I have a word?” The boy looked exceptionally surprised, causing her to roll her eyes. Throwing a glare at his suspicious-looking cohorts, she added “I’m not going to bite you, so you can call off your guard dogs.”

 

Well, so much for her friendly approach. Weasley looked ready to bark, but the wonder boy simply nodded and walked with her to a more secluded part of the corridor. Harry led him to an abandoned classroom before turning back to face him. He was leaning against the wall by the closed door, his arms crossed over his chest. She faltered a second before straightening her spine.

“I need to know more about the night our parents died. There is a plethora of incoherences in the story and I think you may know more than I do.”

He took on a slightly smug expression, contradicting the aggressiveness of posture.

“And why should I tell you anything, Potter? You made very clear that you didn’t want my help at the beginning of the year.”

Harry scowled. “Yes well, I’ve changed my mind. New factors have come into play.”

She mentally cursed right after having pronounced these last words. The Golden Boy was a blood hound for any sort of mysteries, and she had hoped to keep as much as possible from him. He suddenly uncrossed his arms, eager to hear. Right in one.

 “Really? And what’s that?” Seeing her disgruntled expression, he added “I have the right to know, my life could be in danger, you know.”

“There is no need to remind me Longbottom, I’m well aware of who my godfather is supposed to be.” She snapped. She let out a frustratingly exhale through her nose before saying “Look, I just need to know the exact circumstances of that night. On the report trial, it says the Lestranges tortured my family for information, information on the demise of the Dark Lord. Why them? Why you, for that matter? Why come to kill you himself when he was perfectly content with sending his Death Eaters to do the deed for nearly every other times?”

Longbottom tensed at the mention of You-Know-Who, but appeared deep in thoughts. 

“Well, I don’t know per say, but my grandmother told me that your parents went into hiding under a very powerful charm and that only the Keeper of the Secret of that charm could give away the location. Which Black obviously did, or we wouldn’t be having this discussion. Mine apparently thought that the ancestral wards surrounding the manor would be enough. And they weren’t, obviously. Voldemort tore through them like sheets of paper. As to why us… well, I suppose both our parents were very involved in the Resistance, enough to have garnered the attention of Voldemort himself. But you know all that, don’t you?

 

Of course she knew. The charm in question was the Fidelius Charm, a powerful Light ward based on feelings of trust. And people wondered why she had trust issues. In any case, she found this explanation somehow flimsy.

“Our parents were hardly the only families involved in the Resistance. The Bones had a child our age and were killed by Death Eaters, the Weasleys and the Prewetts were similarly involved, as were the Vanes and the McKinnons, but none of these families went into hiding. Only yours and mine. Something doesn’t fit. Hasn’t Regent Longbottom told you _why_ your parents went into hiding?”

“She mentioned something about Dumbledore once… I think he wanted my parents to be under the same type of ward as your parents, but for all the good it did to your family… I don’t think it would have changed much.”

Surprise flooded her feature. “Dumbledore? What does he have to do with anything?”

Longbottom raised a dubious eyebrow. “Of course Dumbledore. He was leading the Resistance after all.”

 

Of course. How could she have not thought about that? She cursed herself mentally for the tenth time of the day. He was the missing link in all this. The Leader of the Light Faction, Supreme Magwump and Head of the International Confederation of Wizards. And likely the only one to hold all the cards apart from Voldemort himself. Harry frowned in discontentment. He was not an opponent she was ready _or_ willing to go against. Longbottom broke the tense silence.

 “But I don’t see what any of this has to do with Sirius Black having escaped and trying to kills us both.”

"How can you be so sure that he actually escaped to kill you? Why would he have waited twelve years before escaping?”

“Maybe he only figured it out now, or was just bidding his time, I don’t know. Why does it matter anyway? We know he did, that should be enough for you of all people. He got your parents killed.”

Harry swatted the unwanted comment as if it were an annoying insect.

 “But how do you know that’s why he escaped? Is it just conjecture or is there something that you’re keeping quiet?”

He scoffed. “You’re one to talk, always having something up your sleeve… Even now, you come asking questions after a whole month of acting as if I didn’t even exist and you won’t tell me what you want. I don’t understand you, Potter.”

“This isn’t about me!” She snarled. Taking a deep breath to calm herself (and how often did she need to do that in his presence? What an infuriating boy) she added: “Just tell me why you’re so sure he’s after you and I’ll stop bothering you.” As he kept stubbornly quiet, she sighted and said “Look, it’s like you said, he is the reason why I’m an orphan, abandoned on a Muggle doorstep like an unwanted, dirty secret. I just need closure, okay?”

 

It was a bit underhanded of her to use emotional manipulation like that, using their common status of orphan to make him sympathise with her, but it seemed to do the trick as Longbottom’s face softened and warmth crept in his gaze. In a gentle voice, he said:

 “You’re not unwanted. Your parents loved you very much, as did mine for me. You should never doubt that. But if you must know, Arthur Weasley heard at the Ministry that the guards of Azkaban heard him mumbling in his cell for days before his escape. He kept repeating “he’s at Hogwarts, he’s at Hogwarts.” Considering the circumstances of his arrest, they immediately thought he was talking about me. Then, the fact that he was seen around Scotland, not too far from here, added credence to that.”

 

He’s at Hogwarts. _He_. Not she. Even half-crazed and starved, the man only thought about one thing. Carrying out his Master’s task. She was of no consequence. Not to him, not to anyone.

 

“Allegedly seen.” Replied Harry in a weak voice. He laughed.

“Yes, if you want, allegedly seen around Scotland.” He was smiling warmly at her, all pretences of aggression gone from his frame. Harry cleared her throat uncomfortably. She did not like the look on his face, undoubtedly a repercussion of the sense of camaraderie that she had constructed earlier. 

“Well, thank you. That’s all I wanted to ask.” She added a small smile for good form. “I will see you around I suppose.”

 

She turned her heels and got out of the empty classroom, into the corridor. She vaguely heard him exclaim a loud ‘Wait!’ But was perfectly happy to ignore it and kept walking at a fast pace in the direction of the Great Hall where diner had probably already started. Just as she glimpsed the doors and the on-going traffic of people coming to and fro, she felt a hand grab her wrist firmly. She turned around, startled to be staring straight into Longbottom’s hazel eyes. He must have ran to catch up with her, if the red tainting his cheeks was any indication.She glanced around and quickly snatched back her wrist as she caught a few people looking their way.

“What is it?” She whispered, annoyed at the idea of offering a display of familiarity with the Boy-Who-Lived. He fumbled a bit before hardening his resolve and finally saying:

“Do you wanna go to Hogsmeade with me? The week-end after the next I mean. I know it’s still a bit far away but I thought… “

 Harry was floored. One somewhat friendly conversation and he was… what, asking her on a _date_? Surely not.

“What for? Shouldn’t you go with your friends?” 

 As in, not her. One non-antagonistic discussion did not make them _friends_ , thank-you-very-much. He did not seem to get her hint however, as he simply shrugged and coloured some more. _Ah. Not from the run, then_ she thought wryly.

“I’m sure they’d get over it, there will be plenty of other times to go with them.”

Furious whispers started to rise around them and Harry glanced around once more, realising they were well and truly making a display. Merlin, she was not prepared to deal with these types of situations. 

“I’m afraid I’ve already promised Daphne that I would go with her, and she is far less forgiving than your friends.”

Longbottom’s face fell slightly, but he did not seem overly surprised.“Oh, right. Another time, maybe. I, err, will see you later then, Henrietta.”

 

He ducked his head and hurried in the Great Hall, leaving her standing in front of the double doors, surrounded by curious stares. She glared at the onlookers. Could people not mind their own business for once? She went to sit at the Slytherin table in a foul mood. Daphne had kept her a spot on her left, her right side being taken by Tracey. Oh joy, more annoying interaction ahead. Fixing herself a plate, she told Daphne:

“I will be coming with you to Hogsmeade after all.”

The other girl raised an eyebrow. Just the day before, Harry had refused to come, claiming that she had too much things to do to go buy candy of all things.

“Does this have anything to do with the kicked-puppy looks Neville Longbottom is sending this way?”

 Harry frowned, her mood souring even further. She supposed discretion was too much to ask of a Gryffindor after all. And calling her by her given name, without her permission and in front of a crowd, too! As if they were long time _friends._ She was going to strangle that boy. She nodded reluctantly, not willing to go into details at the table, within possible earshot of the other Slytherins. Or, Salazar forbid, _Pansy!_ The horrid girl would have a field day indeed. Daphne just smiled, obviously amused.

“Alright then, but we’ll have tea at Madam Puddifoot. It’s supposed to be charming.”

Harry very much doubted that she would find it charming, or the other girl would not have started her sentence with a “but”. She did not dwell on it however, as Tracey shot her a nasty glare and whined:

“But Daphne, you said that we would go together!” 

The Greengrass heir did not even deign to look at her and continued eating daintily before stating calmly:

“I don’t see how Henrietta coming with me prevents us from going together.” She narrowed her eyes at Davis, adding “That is, unless you’d rather go with Pansy than Henrietta and I.”

The other girl huffed but did not reply, which Harry counted as a small victory. Daphne sent her a conspiratory smile. Her eyes spoke for themselves: she was not off the hook as of yet on the Longbottom situation. No doubt she expected a complete rendition of the events before the day was over.

 

* * *

 

Unsurprisingly, Longbottom’s indiscretion had spread through the castle like forest fire, as any news related to the wonder boy usually did. Incidentally, it meant that she was in for a tough time at the Slytherin table. It did not come in the form she expected though, as she had been certain that the first opponent to come forth would be a regular nemesis, Pug-face herself. Therefore, it came as a surprise when she was confronted by Draco Malfoy in all his sneering glory.

 “How is your new boyfriend doing Potter? Not sitting with the Gryffindors today?”

She rolled her eyes. “You know very well that Longbottom is not my boyfriend, so cut it out, your jealousy is showing.”

She did not think that Malfoy was actually jealous at all, but the comment served its purpose when his pale cheeks tool an angry red hue. His sneer deepened.

 “As if, Potter. And it’s not what the whole school is saying anyway. Planning a romantic get-away, are you?”

“I’ll let you know that Daphne, the person I’m going to Hogsmeade with, has no interest in the fairer sex as far as I know, so you can hardly qualify it of romantic.”

“But you do? How very interesting.” Interjected Blaise, who obviously could not refrain from making a lewd comment. Pansy, _of course_ , cut her from answering. 

“I, for one, think that you’re perfect for each other. Longbottom has always been a muggle-lover, and you’re just crass enough for his taste.”

“At least I _am_ to someone’s taste, Parkinson, which is more than can be said about you who, despite your best efforts, remain completely unappealing to anyone around this table but Crabbe or Goyle.” 

 She did not want to stop to her level, but she could not stop herself from snapping back. And her ridiculous, unrequited infatuation for the Malfoy heir was just begging to be exploited. Even now, her angry eyes glanced tearily at him, probably hoping for a contradiction that would never come. Harry sincerely hoped that she herself would never become that deluded.

 “But it’s true, isn’t it? Longbottom did ask you out.” Stated rather than asked Davis.

 “I don’t see how that’s anyone’s business.” Was Harry’s non-answer. Blaise laughed.

 “Longbottom may slay monsters, but taming the Dragon of Slytherin is out of his skillset it seems.”

This was a ridiculous statement, but altogether unsurprising considering most purebloods’ vision of the ideal witch. She clenched her teeth. She was not some beast to be tamed, nor a prize to be won at a lottery.

 “Oh, so _Draco-dearest_ swings that way. You see, Pansy? It’s not your fault if _Dragon_ doesn’t want to be tamed, you’re simply missing a few parts, only one of them being a brain.”

 

Having successfully made her point, she grabbed an apple and turned her heels in the direction of the library, ignoring Blaise’s laughter and Malfoy’s flustered “Shut it, Zabini!” She had much more important things on her mind than a ludicrous rumour to dismantle. Such as the dubious circumstances of Sirius Black’s arrest, the part Albus Dumbledore had played in the events leading to her parents’ death and godfather’s imprisonment, and the resulting consequences for _her._

Right now, she did not see any possible ways that Black could be innocent. And even in the very improbable case where he did not betray her parents for the Dark Lord, he was still supposed to have offed twelve muggles in the explosion that killed Pettigrew (whose own circumstance of death was dubious at best, how could Black have the time to _disintegrate_ his whole body except for a single finger? And even if he had had the time, why in the hell would he leave a finger? That was _evidence_ ). 

But then again, if the proof against him had been so overwhelming, why not give him an express trial, for formality at least? It was not like he could have wormed his way out by claiming to have been under the influence of the Imperious curse like so many did, when the crimes he allegedly committed happened _after_ the death of the Dark Lord. In Harry’s mind, the man was likely guilty of all the crimes that were attributed to him and she would gladly see him Kissed by the Dementors, but she wanted to see him brought in front of justice first. She wanted to be free of the terrible, insidious doubt that was making itself at home in the back of her mind and was slowly driving her crazy. 

Sirius Black’s guilt was not only the easiest solution, but also the most logical one based on the informations that she held. She _wanted_ Sirius Black to be guilty, so that she could have someone to blame her lot in life on. But from what she witnessed of the Wizarding society over the years, logic was rarely the foundation of their reasoning. Case in hand with the lack of trial for Sirius Black, or the fact that they posted soul-sucking beasts to guard a school.

And from the slander of the press, Harry truly wondered how many other people wanted Black to be guilty of these crimes and _why._ The man was very much made out to be this icon of Dark extremism, and she wondered if it was not linked to the fact that there was no corpse left of the Dark Lord. Was Black a scapegoat given to the people in the absence of the true visage of Dark Extremism?

 

She did not think that she could go any further in her investigation without more information, which Madam Bones had been unable to give her. It left her with very few avenues to explore, one of them being confronting Dumbledore. But Harry could not quite bring herself to trust the man who was supposed to be her magical guardian.

When she was first introduced to the magical world by Professor McGonnagal, the woman had explained that the Headmaster of Hogwarts held the role of magical guardian to newly introduced members of the magical society until their majority (or, in her case, until she proved to be self-sufficient, which she intended to by the upcoming summer). And yet, she had never personally met him which truthfully, had been enough to earn her scorn. She did not expect any type of special treatment, but she had thought (hoped might be a better world, really) that he would call her to his office at least once and ask about her integration in school, make sure her home life was a safe environment, anything. She would have told him of the despicable treatment of her relatives and he would have taken her away, never to see them again. 

But no. She had never heard from him, and when she asked Professor McGonnagal as her first year came to a close, the strict woman had given her an apologetic smile, had told her that no students were allowed to stay within the castle during the summer and that she would have to bear with the Muggles for the two months of summer. They were, after all, her legal guardians.

Harry had understood implicitly that there was no need to insist, as it was “against the school policy” and no amount of begging would change their mind. For all their talk of the importance of future generations, it seemed that the wizarding kind did not care for the security of their children quite as much as they claimed. She could think of a few other students who were in similarly dubious home circumstances as her own ( _Nott coming back to school more skittish than the year before_ ; _Rosier whose anger kept growing with each new bruise he sported_ ; _even her, each September more emaciated than the previous one… where were the authorities? Did no one see? Did no one_ care _?_ ). 

 

No one had helped her in primary school and no one would help her here, that much was clear. She had accepted that fact, understood that she could only rely on herself if she wanted to better her own condition. She had known it was her against the world. _Self-determination_ they called it. But it seemed as if enemies kept turning up, shrouded in lies and deceit, and she was not sure what she could trust anymore.

 

 

* * *

 


	6. The Doe-Eyed Bat

_Chapter Six_

 

            She had no clue how she ended up here. Truly, she had been ready to cloister herself up in her dorm for a few hours —and brood a little if she was perfectly honest with herself— before heading back out into the world. But somehow, she ended up in the Slytherin section of the Quidditch pitch for the first match of the season. She blamed it on Daphne; something was telling her that she would be blaming the other girl for a lot of things in the months to come. Truth be told, she was glad not to be alone at the moment, even if their friendship was only one of convenience. 

And it was not so bad, really. The weather was still fairly favourable despite the leaves turning brown. She could not claim a particular attachment to the sport itself despite her love of flying, but the overall ambiance was far from unpleasant, although that may have been for a different reason than the crisp air of October.

She glanced sideway to observe Daphne. The girl was completely unlike her usual composed self. Red-cheeked, sitting at the edge of her seat, the girl followed the match with rapt attention, a smile ready to split her face at every pirouette showcased by the players. The morn voice of the commentator, a certain Lee Jordan who kept getting berated by McGonnagal for his arguable impartiality, was covered by the Slytherin’s deafening chanting as another goal shot past Oliver Wood and into the hoop. Daphne’s loud exclamation was lost in the sea of green and silver, but Harry was floored. She must have worn a particularly owlish expression, because Daphne was suddenly a bit defensive:

“Showing support to your House would be of good taste as of now, Henrietta! In case you haven’t noticed, we’re wrecking them!”

Harry couldn’t quite contain her amusement however. “What happened to being a poised Lady in all circumstances, oh wise mentor?”

She stuck her nose up in the air in response, but a smile was contradicting her apparent disdain.

“I’ll have you know that it’s perfectly acceptable to show your enthusiasm during exceptional circumstances.”

Harry raised a dubious eyebrow. “Exceptional circumstances such as… a quidditch match?”

“Absolutely! Quidditch deserves all the excitement and some more.”

Tracey laughed, too exhilarated to be scornful over Harry’s presence among them.

“Yeah, yeah, we know, Quidditch is amazing and part of the national heritage, blah blah blah. But if Draco could hurry up and catch the snitch already, we could get back inside and celebrate with a warm butterbeer!”

A few inches to her left was Pansy, apparently agreeing whole-heartedly with Tracey but ready to defend Draco to infinity and beyond.

“Can’t you see that he’s letting the team put as much points on their side as possible _before_ grabbing the snitch? I bet he’s seen it a bunch of time already, he’s just waiting for the right moment.”

 

Harry held back a snort. Draco the mastermind, of course. She could admit that he was a very good flyer, weaving in between the red and gold players with a grace and agility that could not simply be justified by his superior broom. The adversary Seeker, a Second Year girl whose ginger mane pointed toward Weasley blood, while quite proficient in the air, could simply not compete with the sleek Nimbus 2001 of the opposing team. Her two brothers, the Twin Menaces, were similarly gifted for the sport, launching the Bludgers with impressive strength (it really should not surprise her, they were basically a pair of human Bludgers themselves), but the old Comets which they mounted were sub-par at best.

The only one to have a competing chance against the race brooms of Slytherin Team was Oliver Wood, whose own dedication —or fanaticism, really— had led him to buy a Nimbus 2000 this new season. Alas for the Gryffindors, the fastest broom of the team might have been more useful for their Seeker who could, at least, have spared them the lynching they were subjected to by putting an early end to their suffering.

 

She was pulled out of her musings by the sudden darkening of the sky. Her chest tightened as the air grew frigid, the unmistakable feeling of despair suffocating her. Turning away from the match, she scrutinised the clouds in frantic trepidation, her fast breath coming out in visible puffs. The crowd had grown quiet, but the blood in her ears was roaring.

“Henrietta, are you alright? You’re white as sheet… We should head in. Henrietta? Henrietta!”

The terraces of the stadium were spinning. Good lord, she felt like she was going to be sick. Was someone screaming? She screwed her eyes shut, hoping it would stop the rotation, but images appeared unbidden behind her eyelids. Marge Dursley insulting her parents as her blasted bulldog closed his maw on her right calf, Vernon backhanding her for being a _freak_ , Dudley making her eat dirt, his meaty paws squeezing the back of her neck, Petunia’s hateful eyes, red hair spread on the ground like a pool of blood, screaming, and freak, freak _freak_ —

She gasped in relief. Just like that, that awful pressure was gone. She did her best to get her breathing under control. A warm feeling had replaced the horror in her guts, and she split an eye open to assess the situation from her spot on the floor. _When had she fallen?_

A luminescent doe was guarding the top of the Slytherin terrace, trotting this way and that. She gulped a few times, trying to get rid of the block in her throat, wet eyes trained on the animal. It was magnificent. The creature emanated such _goodness_. Bright, warm and comforting, she wanted to stay close to it forever.

She shot a glance around her. The girls were all pale and shaking, but appeared otherwise alright. On the other side of the stadium, a wolf, just as luminescent as the doe, appeared to be prowling the terraces. She quickly looked around, trying to find the sources of the animals. A professor? She could hardly see anything in the general pushing and shoving of the student body, and she was still feeling light-headed from the atrocious experience. She contemplated sitting back on the bench and waiting for the crowd to disperse, but she was fairly certain it would only accentuate her feelings of suffocation and claustrophobia. 

Her throat was tightening again, a wave of nausea gripping her as she recalled the memories she had tried so hard to suppress. The rotten helplessness that permeated from them. She had thought —hoped, prayed— that she would never have to feel this way again, but it seemed that the universe was hell-bent on making her year as miserable as possible.

 

“Henrietta are you alright? You gave me quite the scare, I thought you were going to faint.”

She ignored Pansy’s disgusted “or puke on our shoes” and gave Daphne a tight smile but did not answer. She didn’t trust her voice at the moment.

“Let’s head back to the Common Room, they stopped the match anyway.”

Thank Merlin for small blessings. There was no way that she would ever let the girl drag her to another match so long as those revolting _creatures_ were around.

But hiding away in the castle for the rest of the year (Salazar forbid they stayed longer than that) was not a suitable solution. She had to do something about it, no matter the time, money or energy that it would take her. She was _not_ a weak little girl anymore.

The students filled out of the stadium, unusually subdued, and headed to the castle under the watchful gaze of their Head of House. Snape, even more testy than customary, was conducting the retreat with military discipline.

“Prefects! Escorts Years one to four. In orderly fashion! Moon! Make yourself useful for _once in your Hogwarts career_ and get. To. It. Fifth Years and above, I trust you are competent enough to get yourselves straight to the Common Room. _No. Detour._ The repercussions for disobedience will be swift and harsh. _Now!_ ”

 

None of the students were foolish enough to emit the slightest noise of disagreement and it barely took fifteen minutes for all of the Slytherins to be cloistered in the Common Room. The Quidditch team was still missing, probably on a mandatory trip to the Infirmary for a perfunctory check-up. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to matter how many times the other girls expressed this thought to a frazzled Pansy, she was inconsolable. Harry tried to block out the frenzied chatter around her, eyes locked on the fire in the hearth. The chill seemed to cling to her bones, regardless of her proximity to the furnace. She was very tempted to simply run upstairs, get in bed and seal shut her baldaquin curtains until the morning. She had had enough adventures for the day.

 

Thankfully, Snape finally swept through the room, closely followed by the missing team. They were all uninjured and in one piece, and Pansy was quiet at last. Snape started:

“As I’m sure you are all aware by now, the match was disrupted by Dementors which is why you felt cold and despair invade you. Dementors are XXXXX rated non-beings, and I cannot stress enough how dangerous they are. We were very lucky today not to have any collateral damage from their invasion. I assure you that this will not happen again. The Headmaster is in London as we speak and he will be heard by the Minister. The foul creatures will be forced to stay further away, behind the wards of the castle. However, if any of you still feel lasting effects from the encounter, I insist you come to me, or at the very least, visit Madam Pomfrey. There is not much that can be done, but chocolate is said to… alleviate somehow the after-effects.”

His gaze lingered on a few individuals in the room, her included. Following his gaze, she saw the pale form of Rosier scowling at their Head of House, obviously displeased at the insinuation his eyes carried. She couldn’t help but be relieved that she wasn’t the only one to be so heavily affected. The girls had gone back to normal so quickly that she worried about her own abnormal reaction, but contrary to Rosier, she didn’t resent Snape insistence. Quite the contrary in fact, she intended to ask him a few questions of her own as soon as she was free from the presence of her peers. Surely he knew how to deal with the blasted things and would have advices on how to fend them off. He _had_ offered assistance if she needed it at the beginning of the year after all. And if he couldn’t, then surely the Defence teacher would know a trick or two. He had proven his competence and fairness until now, so it might be worth a shot.

 

As the man left to go deal with whatever repercussions that may come out of the debacle, conversations started throughout the Common Room.

“Draco! Are you alright? I was so scared for you, we all had to come back here and they wouldn’t tell us a thing about how you were fairing, it was driving me insane!”

Pansy had latched onto the Malfoy’s arm, much to his apparent annoyance.

“Of course I’m fine! I’m fairly certain I could easily outfly the vile creatures if I needed to, anyway.”

Marcus Flint, who was hovering nearby with his own gaggle of friends, snorted.

“Yeah right, we were just lucky they weren’t much interested in us. We excited them a little, but they were more drawn to the terraces. I sure am glad they were, it was pretty awful as it was.”

 

Harry was itching to ask if they had seen things, or if they had heard the woman screaming, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask around so many ears. Her severe reaction had been witnessed by enough people as it was, and she had no desire to remind them.

 

Daphne shivered. “They really are the foulest creatures. To think that they can suck out your soul!”

Blaise nodded, uncharacteristically grave. “A fate worse than death, no doubt. Spending the rest of eternity in their stomach…”

“Well, it’s not really like you’re aware of it, is it?” Millicent asked.

Theodore sent her a disapproving look. “The Soul is no laughing matter, Millicent. Of course it’s not proven that the consciousness emanate from it, but it is still the only thing that makes you what you are. Without the Soul, you’re nothing but an empty shell. Part of our Magic resides there.”

 

Now that was interesting. The soul had always been a relatively vague concept to Harry, maybe due to her muggle background where it was usually tied to religious belief, something her own status as a Witch made her generally wary of. The notion that at least some magic resided in the soul was mind-blowing (the very idea that the soul was, in fact, a very tangible thing had already turned her world sideways). She would need to research on that as soon as she’d find the time.

 

Millicent tried to defend her point despite Nott’s disapproval.

“Well, sure. But you’re not really aware _aware_ , are you? A soul alone, without a body, there is no consciousness, surely.”

Nott frowned. “Hm. Well, I suppose we don’t really know, either answer would be difficult to prove.”

“What about the ghosts then? Wouldn’t they be bodiless souls that didn’t pass on?” Daphne chimed in.

Harry cleared her throat. “Actually, they’re just magical imprint of people’s souls, not their _actual_ soul. A piece of their magic, tied to a place of fundamental importance to them.” She paused for a moment. “I’m not sure that the soul alone, admitting it could theoretically survive on its own, can really be considered as a Being. Ghosts are Spirits, even though they are cognitive, because they are disembodied. So surely Souls, without the body and the functioning brainwaves necessary to make it work, couldn’t be considered Beings either. No?”

Theodore considered her thoughtfully before answering. 

“I suppose you’re right. A Wizard needs a Soul, a Mind and a Body in order to exists as a Being. But since ghost are the magical imprint of souls and _are_ cognitive, then the Soul itself must be as well.”

“What would be the purpose of the Mind then?” Asked Daphne. Harry noted that they had lost most of their auditorium during their debate. 

“I think it must be to tie the Soul and the Body together. Even if the Soul is cognitive, it doesn’t necessarily have the power to control the Body, which is why ghosts are conscious and mobile but disembodied. What do you think, Theo?”

He smiled appreciatively. “That would make a lot of sense actually.”

“What about Squibs then? How come they can’t perform magic? It’s in their blood, so technically, it must be in their bodies as well, no?”

It was fairly surprising that the question came from Daphne. Not because of a lack of acuity —the Greengrass heiress had proven numerous time to be a very astute witch in fact— but because Squibs were a touchy subject for Purebloods, somewhat of a taboo. And Daphne usually worked so hard to project the image of the perfect Pureblood princess that it was highly unexpected for her to breach such a subject in public. Harry smiled a little. She quite liked what she saw underneath her veneer of decorum.

“That’s a really good point, Daphne. Theodore said that some of the Magic resides in the Soul, but I’d rather not jump to the conclusion that theirs is somewhat… ah, faulty, just based on this. Maybe the Mind carries some of the Magic as well? Actually, do one of you know _where_ is the Magical Core?”

“Henrietta dear, I didn’t know you were so interested in Magical Theory. Do you know that asking a Wizard about his Core is a very intimate thing?”

Blaise —of course— interrupted their debate, smiling as roguishly as a thirteen years old was capable of.

“Good thing I wasn’t asking about yours, then.”

The boy put a hand to his heart, mock-hurt. “Henrietta, you wound me! But to answer your question, there are three types of Cores. Dark, Neutral and Light. Although you can influence your Core with your magic usage, you’ll have a lot more difficulties to use Dark Magic with a Light Core, and vice versa. Now _where_ the Core is situated is quite controversial, but it’s safe to assume you need Mind, Body and Soul together to have one.”

“And because we almost only do Neutral Magic, it must be difficult to know which Core you have I suppose.”

He smirked. “Ah, not overly much actually. It does tend to run in the Families after all. It’s not an exact science, but there are instruments to find out if you’re that interested. There is always testing the other Magics to see which is better suited for you of course.”

Henrietta had no difficulty to imagine they all knew of their core nature, contrary to her.

“Does that mean the Factions of the Wizengamot are dependent on the Wizard’s core?”

Daphne smiled appreciatively and Blaise released a light chuckle.

“You’ve always been a quick one, Potter.”

“Yes, it has something to do with that” started Daphne, “but it’s not systematic. Some people simply refuse to acknowledge the truth of their nature for whatever social reason. Like we said, it’s quite rare, but a Wizard born in a Light family can have a Dark core and vice versa. Most people are easily ready to turn their back on their very nature to conform to their families’ expectation, you see. And anyway, there isn’t that many Neutral Cores. That particular Wizengamot Faction is mostly made of Light or Dark oriented, but politically neutral families.”

Harry, who was relatively uncomfortable with this line of thought (from what little she knew of her parents, she couldn’t really imagine that they would be all too proud of her life-choices so far), reoriented the conversation.

“It would seem that having a Neutral core would be more advantageous no? You’d be able to perform all three types of magic without difficulty then.”

“Yes and no. You wouldn’t have difficulties to perform all three, but you wouldn’t have the affinity or strength toward any type either. You can’t have the best of everything, you see. And like Daphne said, it’s quite uncommon anyway.” Blaise replied.

Harry frowned. “Oh. But wouldn’t you have a propensity for Neutral magic at least?”

He shrugged. “Neutral magic is the easiest to master, which is why they teach it in school. That and the fact that both Light and Dark cores can produce it. Most Wizards go their entire life without performing either of the strongest types of magic.”

Harry was confused now. “I thought the Dark Arts were quite a bit used?” 

In the last war —and probably still today, hidden away in their manors— the heavy anti-Dark Art propaganda implied that their use was still common.

Blaise smiled ruefully but Daphne had a carefully crafted distracted façade as she angled her face elsewhere. She had reached her limit of impolite conversation in public, no doubt.

“Now Henrietta, just because the Ministry likes to call something dark, doesn’t mean it is Dark Magic. Those fools have no clue about the truth of Magicks. Everything that scares them is considered dark because they’re incapable of controlling it. The British government is particularly narrow-minded, but it’s not that way everywhere, you know.”

Harry leaned forward. This was golden informations. She _wanted_ to get rid of the shackles their society imposed on them. Blaise smiled, self-satisfied at having her full attention.

“Continental Europe in general is much more open to the study of Light and Dark Magicks. France is generally Light-oriented for example, but is renown for its propensity for Elemental Magic, which falls outside of the classification but is still considered dark by the British Ministry. Italy however, is a lot less judgmental about these silly notions, and because of the Roman heritage, is generally quite well-versed in ritualistic magic. Not the same as the Irish Druidic Rituals mind you, but equally prohibited by the English Isles for being ‘dark.’”

“It must have been fascinating to grow up surrounded by such different practices… Ritualistic magic is considered a big no-no here, simply because it requires a sacrifice even though the sacrifice in question doesn’t have to be animate. Those fools just put Ritualistic and Blood Magic in the same bag without a care for the intricate differences.”

 

It was proof of Harry’s enthusiasm for the subject that she let the first comment slip past her lips. In regular circumstances, she systematically avoided any mention of childhood. But the possibilities of Magic were so great, the thought of being leashed by an ignorant government was just unbearable.

He smiled, but it was tinted with slight bitterness. “I’m glad you think so. Few British Families agree with you on the benefits of multiple origins.”

Harry gave him her own sardonic smile. “I think I know that better than most, Blaise.”

The Zabini heir let out a bark of laughter. “I bet you do. You know, I think my mother would like you. She, too, is very… ah, non-conformist, you could say.” 

Her smiled turned genuine, for what may be the first time during a conversation with Zabini.

“I would love to meet her, actually. She’s a very impressive woman.”

 

After the passing of Lord Zabini, Lady Zabini, none-withstanding the inheritances from her several remarriages, had increased tenfold the Family fortune by taking control over the potion ingredients market —and some rumours included the black market in her stranglehold— and buying most of the Apothecaries of the British Isles at a cut-price after having fluctuated the market price to run them out of business. Now in control of both the market and the operators, Lady Zabini had become pretty much unrivalled in the domain of potion-making, which was one of the farthest-reaching discipline. After all, potions weren’t simply used for Potion class, but also for Healing (and supplying a large hospital like Saint Mungo must be _reaping season_ ), Cosmetics, Cooking, Curse-Breaking, Broom-Making, Magical Photography and a plethora of less legal activities. Truly, Lady Zabini was a first-class business woman.

 

Blaise gave her an affectionate look. “Another of your non-conformist opinions.”

She suddenly felt embarrassed, although she had no reason to. Clearing her throat, she got up.

“Well, I have some work to do, so I best retire. Good afternoon, Blaise.”

The boy chuckled lowly, not duped by her evasion technique. “Of course you do, Henrietta. Be careful to let yourself unwind from time to time.”

He added his trademark wink, and her embarrassment was promptly replaced by indignation. The _gall_ of that boy…! She headed straight for the passage leading to the dungeon, too incensed by his teasing to remember to head upstairs to retrieve her homework, so that she could at least pretend to do some work. But she had a destination in mind, and although she was temporarily distracted from her goal by the _infuriating_ boy, she would not be led astray any longer.

 

* * *

 

“Enter,” intoned the smooth, low voice of her Head of House. His dark eyes were assessing but unsurprised to find her here. “Sit.”

 

He nodded to let her know she may speak, but she found her voice lacking. It suddenly seemed impossible for her to organise her thoughts intelligibly, her stomach knotted as it was. She knew better than to ramble messily, so she took a minute to articulate her jumbled thoughts.

 

“Well?” His mouth, previously stuck in a straight line, pulled down; a sure sign that his patience was waning.

“I find myself having a… peculiar reaction to the beasts. Stronger than that of my year-mates. Do you know the enchantment that made them flee?”

He kept silent for a while, his unreadable eyes exploring her ivory face. “I do. It is called the Patronus Charm, a strong Light spell notoriously difficult to master. Well beyond NEWT level.”

Harry narrowed her eyes, her determination written all over her face. “Is it in the Restricted Section, or is it available for all to browse in the library?”

Snape pursed his lips. “You won’t manage to learn it without the proper guidance, Miss Potter. Even then, the probability of you mastering that Charm at thirteen is… low, to say the least.”

She jutted her chin. “I will take my chances, sir.”

Snape sneered. “Check your tone Potter, I’ll have none of your father’s arrogance.” He gave her a cruel smirk, his sallow skin creasing. “I could be inclined to help you, were you to ask properly and bend that pride of yours.”

She gritted her teeth. She could certainly bend her pride if he curbed that blasted _condescension._

But she needed him. She _had_ to master that spell.

“Please sir, could you help me learn the Patronus Charm?”

“Hm. That’s better. We will meet here every Saturday at 5pm sharp. The spell being very draining, we shall not practice for more than two hours at a time. You will listen to my instructions without insubordination whatsoever, or you will have to find yourself another tutor; and may I say, you will not find many able to cast it, even among the professors. Do we have an agreement?”

Harry couldn’t quite contain her jubilation, smiling wide, her resentment forgotten. “Yes, sir.”

He offered her a nod, almost agreeable. “In the mean time, I suggest you work on clearing your mind through meditation. It shall help you on a number of ways.”

“Thank you sir, I will. You won’t be disappointed.”

“Hm. I’ll be the judge of that. You may go, Miss Potter.”

She left her seat but faltered at the door, hesitating. Taking a deep breath, she turned back to face the impassible man staring at her.

“Was it you? The doe that protected the Slytherins” _that protected me_ “in the stands, was it your Patronus charm?” Belatedly, she added a quick “sir.”

His face was granite. No doubt she had gone too far in her inquiry and stepped on his toes. Somehow, she often managed to do that with what she thought to be innocent questions. She was about to apologise when he finally replied, his voice distinctively neutral.

“I will always do my utmost to protect the students under my care to the best of my abilities, Miss Potter. Now leave.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. “Of course sir. Hm, thank you again and good evening.”

 

She hightailed out of the office, feeling as if she had gotten away with murder for some reason.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
